#all of us seeing Barbie multiple times like I can’t remember a time at the movies like this in recent memory | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ellsbclls · 3 years ago

Text

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion �� but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene �� opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

216 notes · View notes

dat-town · 3 years ago

Text

wish you were here

Characters: Mark Lee & you

Setting: wish dragon au (and a bit of aladdin because mark even has a tiger in their garden like jasmine did. don’t ask why, just blame the regular mv), childhood best friends to lovers (at least there’s potential?)

Genre: fluff and humour

Warnings: mentions of a sick animal and a wild animal kept as a pet in a huge garden (just like jasmine’s tiger, it’s very tamed)

Summary: A magical teapot, a dragon that wants everyone to be happy and an old friendship being revived. Oh yeah, have I told you that you have 3 wishes?

Words: 6.4k

For @restlessmaknae 💕

When your mother told you you got delivery to your childhood home, you certainly did not expect this: a brown box as big as a small watermelon with your old Canadian address and MARK LEE scrabbled next to your name as another recipient but no sender. Not to mention, the first stamp on the thing was dating back to the early 2010s. Where the hell was this package for 10 years? And what would you and your old neighbour slash best friend have gotten together?

Okay, first things first:

You and this clumsy, kind of cute kid, Mark had been quite tight while growing up. You were born in the same year, only a month apart, and his family lived in the house next to yours in the suburbs of Vancouver, so it was kind of natural. You two might have been against the world kind of comrades, playing hide and seek when you were six and wondering about whether time travelling was possible through black holes at twelve. But no matter how close you used to be, you fell out of touch when Mark's family moved to the other end of the world, back to Korea, their roots when you were fourteen. You slowly forgot about him, and started university in the city, moving away from home, so nothing really reminded you of him ⎼ and your stupid, big fat crush on him that you had no courage to tell him about in middle school ⎼, nothing until this box.

You put the delivered package on your kitchen table while you make some dinner for yourself out of what you have gotten during grocery shopping earlier just before you picked up the mysterious stuff at the post office. You eye it suspiciously over your pasta, really not wrapping your mind about what it could be but instead of annoying yourself with this pointless curiosity, you put your fork down and stand up to open it. It’s a struggle at first, the box being secured with multiple adhesive tapes over the years but when you finally get rid of all that and can look inside of it, an intense feeling rushes through you… immerse disappointment.

“A teapot? For real? What were we thinking?” you furrow your brows taking the small, green and pretty old teapot into your hands. It looks like a piece of a traditional Asian set with its jade colour and dragon pattern. It couldn’t have been in a much better shape 10 years ago either seeing how wayworn it is but still, you expected something more… exciting? Something funny that might or might not give you an excuse to look up Mark Lee on the internet and message him for the sake of old times. But how lame it would be to befriend him on Facebook only to tell him that you got delivered a teapot under both your names. Hah, you would rather not embarrass yourself like that.

You shoot one last glance at the teapot before leaving it on your counter and going back to your food, you successfully forget about the whole ordeal. You carry your life on with only one small difference: Mark Lee back on your mind after long, long years.

It was just a small crush, you tell yourself, sighing as you look into the mirror, absentmindedly wondering how he’s doing. Does he think of you sometimes as well? Did he go to music college like he has always wanted? Is he happy? You wish he was even if he’s half a world away and with that thought you think it’s time to go to sleep despite the upcoming weekend days. You don’t want to mess up your sleep schedule over some boy but as soon as you pull the blanket over your chest and close your eyes, something explodes in your kitchen.

You jump out of bed faster than lightning, in slight panic over the fact that your neighbours will hate you for bothering them late at night and your landlord would kill you if you managed to blow up your microwave. But the sight that welcomes you is like no other that you imagined. The whole room is covered in thick pink glittery smoke. Like your worst Barbie nightmare.

“What the⎼” you cough, waving your hands to clear the air and once it dissolves into nothingness with its weirdly cotton candy smell, there’s a boy in the middle of it all, sitting cross legged on your kitchen counter so casually as if he owned the place. His pink-ish purple hair hangs into his eyes and he seems to find your coffee machine strangely interesting. You grab the first thing you can ⎼ a blender ⎼ and hold it up in defensive before yelling at the boy: “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”

The stranger’s mouth pulls up in a charming smile, his eyes sparkle as he turns his attention to you, hopping off the counter. He’s all thin and long limbs, so you hate how you hate to look up at him as he walks towards you before bowing ceremoniously.

“Hello, sorry for the sudden appearance, I just couldn’t wait any longer! I’ve been stuck in that teapot waaay too long. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. My name is Taeyong, I’m a wish dragon and you’re my new owner,” he smiles and what he says makes absolutely no sense.

“A wish dragon?” you mumble in shock, looking around to see if this is just another prank of Johnny. You wouldn’t be surprised to see him jump out from under one of the cupboards. Or maybe you just fell asleep and you’re dreaming. Yeah, that seems like a realistic scenario.

“Ah, yes! I know I don’t look like it but modern times require modern solutions. Most people freak out because of my dragon form, so human it is,” the boy who seems only a few years older than you grins as he’s chatting and you have to give it to him, he takes this role pretty seriously. “You have three wishes as my owner. You can ask for anything as long as it’s not about death or love.”

So you got yourself someone who thinks he’s basically a genie? Oh gosh, is he that drunk?

“Aha, very funny. I’m too tired for this prank, so I would appreciate it if you left the same way you came...” you point towards your window because there’s no way he came through the door. Putting down your blender because the guy looks pretty harmless despite his crazy blabbering, you move to go back to your bedroom.

“No, no, no, I can’t do that,” the boy, Taeyong as he introduced himself, appears in front of you within a second and grabs your shoulder as if he could shake some sense into you. He looks pretty desperate. “I can only get a new owner if I fulfill all wishes of yours. It was super stuffy in that box the last decade, you know.”

At that excuse you let out a laugh.

“You don’t even fit it the⎼”

“You were saying?” Taeyong is suddenly nowhere near ahead of you but instead a small creature, supposedly a dragon, in the size of your palm flies in front of your eye level. “It’s magic!”

Okay, now that sight makes you feel like it’s you who is drunk. Or worse.

“Am I dead?” you have to ask in a small, uncertain voice, trying to think back what could have happened. Maybe that explosion literally blew your apartment up? But it hurts when you pinch your arm and turning back into his human form, Taeyong wants to prove the very same thing. Not the hurting but the not dead part, obviously.

“No, you’re very much alive and a happy owner of a wish dragon. Not permanently, of course, but still,” he tells you as he drags you onto your couch in the living room. As if sitting down could help processing all this.

So you have a wish dragon in your home, a magical creature that can casually switch between its dragon and human form and he says you should wish for three things, so he could leave and you could go back to your old, boring life without magic and things that scare you to death at 11PM.

“Can I ask… why? Why me? I’m not really owner-material,” you whisper because heck yeah, you even managed to kill your cactus before. Taeyong purses his lips as he sits down, a hand at his chin.

“Well, it’s unusual indeed to have a peasant girl, no offence, as my owner but as far as I know, you and your friend asked for a sign that magic was real.”

Oh, you remember that, being so obsessed with shooting stars and other stuff like that, you two used Mark’s brother’s computer to browse the internet, trying to find evidence about all that. You were kids wanting to believe in a world beyond the one you knew. But...

“That was like 10 years ago,” you furrow your eyebrows, not getting the timing.

“Well, sorry, you weren’t put on the top of the Heaven wish list and the shipping from Shanghai to Vancouver isn’t the fastest either,” Taeyong shrugs as if it was supposed to be natural. As if that was the most unbelievable thing. Well, delivery services are sometimes a pain in the ass, that’s true but getting a wish delivered by Heaven was something you would have never thought of and it all drains down on you. Strangest realisation of your life.

“So… it’s all real,” you whisper ahead of yourself: magic, dragons and all that. You could basically see your old best friend’s I told you so smile and let out a soft chuckle. “I wish Mark could meet with you, too.”

At that the guy ahead of you claps his hands and rubs them together, creating the same purple smoke from before. You look at him alarmed.

“Your wish, my command,” Taeyong grins and lifts his hands and before you could make a sound of protest because gosh, you didn’t mean it literally, you feel the ground move under your feet and you’re falling, into the darkness but despite shutting your eyes automatically, fearing the impact of the crash, nothing comes. Only the smell of soy sauce in the air and warm sunshine on your skin… Wait, what?

Your eyelids fly open and you notice in shock that you’re not in your flat anymore, ready to sleep. Instead, you stand in the middle of a goddamn street somewhere in Korea based on the signs still in your PJ shorts and tee. Oh my gosh! You hide in an alley right away and yank the seemingly proud Taeyong with you.

“I didn’t tell you that I meant right now! I can’t meet Mark in my PJs and I need my phone and wallet to function anyways. Not to mention, I don’t speak Korean at all...” you ramble panicking, the realisation that you’re indeed on the other side of the Earth due to some magic is yet to register. But the awkwardness from the stares you have just gotten has already turned you bashful.

Listening to you, the wish dragon seems sheepish and slightly embarrassed as he scratched his nape, his colourful hair falling into his cast down eyes.

“Oh… sorry. I got so excited over the wish that I didn’t think about it! It’s been a while since I did teleport magic but hey, I still have it in me. Anyways, sorry. Phone and wallet, you said? Here you go,” he pulls out something from his pants which magically seems to be indeed your belongings. That definitely makes things earlier.

“Uhm, thanks. Where are we exactly?”

“Ah, well you mentioned your friend Mark Lee, so we’re here. Well, one bell away because I did remember that it’s rude to intrude other’s houses without permission first,” oh now, you know, you snicker internally and gulp because hell, even if you wanted to see Mark, you wouldn’t have thought that the meeting would come so soon. You didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself mentally.

“So… you’re telling me that this… is where Mark lives?” you point at the impressive apartment complex on the corner of the street but Taeyong shakes his head.

“Nope, This is where your Mark lives,” he says and before you could object about the ‘your’ part, the dragon points at the other side of the road at a luxurious house with a huge garden, basically a palace. Seeing the beautiful fountain, the modern and yet traditional Korean style building beyond the fences makes your jaw drop.

“Hahaha, alright for a magic dragon you must have made a mistake. There’s no way the Mark Lee I know lives here,” you look back at Taeyong finding it funny that the kid who used to wore his favourite tees until his mother basically threw them out would live at such a place.

“Mark Lee, korean name Minhyung, supposed to be 22 years old internationally soon. Bad eyesight, contagious laugh, clumsy but has surprisingly good reflexes, gets embarrassed easily. Sound familiar?” Taeyong crooks a brow at you as he reads the information off from a parchment he just took out of his pants. Everything he listed is just so Mark that you’re left in disbelief.

“Uuh… that sounds about right.”

“His father hit it big in 2016 with a tech company, their net worth has too many zeros to count,” Taeyong explains, seeing how surprised you were over the fact that he lived a lavish life like this. Not that he doesn’t deserve it! Mark is such a sweetheart, so of course, you would only want the best for him but as if half the world wasn’t enough, now you have another huge gap between you.

“Gosh, I really can’t believe this. How am I supposed to just ring the bell and say hello after so much time?” you sighed with your head in your hands. “Argh, I need to buy some clothes and change.”

Taeyong approves the idea based on how enthusiastically he hollers, you wonder why nobody on the street seems to pay no attention to him. Maybe only you see him, just more reason for you to be crazy.

“Good idea because we’re having dinner with Mark!”

“What?” you look up in shock, not following through. Taeyong grins down at you, flashing a giddy smile and with a twirl he’s changed from his baggy, casual clothes to something more chic but still laidback.

“Your wish was him meeting me, so I arranged everything. I can't meet him without you and the teapot there, you know,” he explains as if it was supposed to be obvious. You aren't ready yet though.

“You just want to eat all the fancy delicious food he has,” you squint at him suspiciously and the dragon stays silent, so you must be right. He laughs nervously.

“Maybe, but can you blame me? I haven’t had a feast since a literal decade!” he hollers and somehow you really cannot find it in yourself to be angry at him. You are in Seoul for god's sake after all and magic is real, you can put up with the inconvenience of buying clothes and making yourself look decent before dumping all this surprise on Mark.

An hour later you stand in front of the gates of the Lee mansion and nervously you wipe your sweating hands into your dress. You can totally do this, you just say hi to an old friend, it's not like you're afraid he wouldn't remember you, hah, of course not–

"Y/N!"

You whip your head at the call of your name to the source of that all too familiar voice. Sure it's deeper than you remember but there's no mistake in whose it is. Plus, who else would call your name in South Korea of all places.

"Mark, hey!" you wave the boy who just got out of one of the fanciest cars you've ever seen in your life. And yet, despite the Prada suit and expensive shoes, styled hair and Swiss watch on wrist, Mark Lee still has that goofy little smile and the doe eyes that used to make you weak in the knees. Hah, who are you kidding? They still do.

"Oh my god, dude, you… you got pretty," Mark jogs up to you and having no filter like always he blabbers immediately only to stutter as his ears turn red. It was so him talking before thinking, so you didn’t really mean to dwell on his words. Although you felt your cheeks dusted with pink soon enough. "I mean, it's really good to see you! I was so surprised to see your name in my calendar for today's dinner! You should have told me you were coming to Korea, I would have picked you up at the airport."

His calendar? Ah, of course, he must have been busy and all that. You wouldn’t have been surprised to see an assistant run after him at this point, so you wonder how your wish dragon magically put you onto his list of important people to meet. Gosh, it was so weird.

"Ah, I have a funny story about that…" you chuckled to yourself but before you could have get out anything, even a please, can we go to a more private place? Mark’s eyes zero on the guy next to you and his eyes grow comically wide.

"And uhm, who is your friend?" he points at Taeyong who waves him in exchange with a kilowatt smile. He looks back at you with his mouth agapé. "Oh my god, you came to invite me to your wedding?"

He says oh my god way too many times for an eloquent rich kid, he really is the Mark Lee you knew.

"No, never! I mean, of course, I would invite you but Taeyong and I– I literally met him on my way here," you explain hastily cursing yourself for the silly lie. You came to tell him the news not to try to make it believable.

“I heard there’s food,” the wish dragon pipes in very helpful and you shoot him a disapproving glance he doesn’t notice. Luckily, Mark doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course, dinner! Come on in, let’s get you two settled,” he grins albeit a bit awkwardly as he leads you through the gate after opening it with his card.

On the way through the very, very, very big garden, he’s chattering about how he misses the Vancouver weather, especially on humid, hot days like this and talks about how he thinks the fountain in their yard is a bit too much but his mom loved it and then before you know it, you sit by a huge dining table with fine food in front of you. Suddenly you can’t decide whether you're grateful for Taeyong’s shameless presence – he digs into the jjigae right away – because at least the situation isn’t awkward because of your silence or you’re annoyed by it because you must seem like a weirdo because of him. That’s why you decide to rip off the bandage and tell Mark as soon as the last maid has disappeared too.

“Okay, so actually I came here because I have a surprise,” you speak up, probably too serious because the boy almost chokes on his food due to how fast he turns his head towards you.

“More surprise?” he coughs out and you offer him a glass of water which he takes with a smile.

“You literally won’t believe this one!” you assure him and wait until he gulps down the drink. Only then you point to Taeyong and tell him that your childhood wish has come true.

Mark almost falls off his chair this time.

Not after you tell him that though. He laughs at that with that wheezing laugh of his as if you told the joke of the century then pats you on the shoulder murmuring That was a good one, bro and turning back to his food. But then you look at the magic dragon pointedly and Taeyong puts down his chopsticks with an exaggerated sign. Then he flexes his magic: turning into his dragon form among additional sparkles and Mark suddenly looks like he’s about to faint. He reaches out to tap on your shoulder while not taking his eyes off the wish dragon.

“Am I dreaming?” he whispers and honestly, you totally get his reaction while Taeyong mumbles something about ‘people these days not believing in dragons’ as he shows off all the things he could do: gift riches, make one stronger than they are, giving skills of whatever one wants. He starts rambling about how this one Chinese emperor became wealthy thanks to this, how that one actor in martial arts and all this before changing back to his human form and he continues eating his pasta like nothing ever happened.

“I can do this all day,” he shrugs as if he didn’t just perform the coolest magic tricks.

“This… this is the best thing ever!” Mark exclaims with those sparkles in his eyes you missed so much. He was always so excited about new things and it automatically makes you smile how he bombards Taeyong with million questions like: ‘So you are the wish dragon that grants wishes?’ or asking him about his scales, his unique color, how it feels to live in such a small teapot, how old he is and the dragon glows under all the attention. Can’t blame him but Mark has always been so curious about the world, it’s endearing.

“So your first wish was to meet me?” he turns to you after long minutes of interrogating Taeyong and suddenly, under the spotlight you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can feel yourself blushing because you didn’t necessarily mean to wish for that but it’s not like you’re regretting it, it’s just… you don’t want him to misunderstand.

“I thought you should meet him, too, after all the package was delivered for the two of us,” you look down, trying to sound nonchalant while picking your food, avoiding Mark’s gaze. No matter how open armed he welcomed you, you still aren’t convinced that it’s okay to be here because the more time you spend with him, the more you would like to stay a part of his life. “It’s just… I wasn’t really sure we could ever meet again. We didn’t keep contact after you left.”

With dropped shoulders, you try not to sound too downhearted because of what happened because you know all too well, it wasn’t his fault, it was a family decision and look at him, it did good for him! He seems happy, they live in a practically mansion but most importantly, he didn’t seem to change with the wealth. He might wear expensive clothes but under it all he’s still the boy with the most loveable smile.

“I… I was thinking about you a lot, I just thought you forgot about me,” Mark admits with a sheepish smile, tucking his hair behind his ear shyly. He really still is the same and it’s playing silly little games with your heart. If this was a cheesy Disney movie, a slow bgm would start to play as you look into each other but your moment is broken when Taeyong accidentally kicks into his chair as he stands up. At first he looks alarmed but then giggles.

“I will just… go. Don’t mind me,” he disappears like smoke with a wink, leaving you two alone at which Mark lets out a woah. You chuckle at his cute reaction, heart doing somersaults in your chest.

You thought it would be awkward, just the two of you alone after long years but Mark has this thing that he makes people feel comfortable around him, so it’s actually quite nice. You catch up on everything and anything that comes to your mind: old neighbours, studies, friends, what are you doing now and what would you like to do, too.

After finishing the delicious dinner, Mark offers a home tour which you would never refuse and you jaw drops at the huge crystal chandelier in their living room as well as their swimming pool but your favourite place in the whole mansion is Mark’s room because it’s just so him. You can’t describe it well but the moment you step inside, it feels like home. It’s cozy to the point it makes you want to cuddle a pillow. It has colours of pastels, a synthesizer here, a guitar there, posters of singers framed on his wall and vinyl records hanging down. His window has a view of sunset and Namsan above their green garden and although you haven’t been in Seoul before, you’re pretty sure it’s your favourite place in the whole damn city, too.

“Wait, there’s someone I would like you to meet,” Mark suddenly exclaims while you’re looking through his pictures and he pulls you out of his room, out of the house, into the garden: You giggle all the way as he’s being so secretive about it but then your steps halt unexpectedly and the hand you have in Mark’s yanks him back.

“Mark… why is there a tiger in your garden in the middle of Seoul?” you ask as quietly and as immobile as you can. You don’t want to attract the sleeping animal’s attention to yourself. But to your biggest surprise, the boy just laughs, his thumb caressing your skin soothingly.

“She’s Jasmine and she won’t hurt you,” he reassures you but needless to say, you’re not too calm and you’re pulled close to the wild animal that lifts its huge head towards you lazily. “She was abandoned by her mother as a cub and she was outcast in the zoo because she’s a bit sick, so she has always been weaker than her siblings. Dad made a donation and we have raised her since she was young.”

You hiss when Mark reaches out without fear but the tiger basically purrs as he strokes down his fur at the neck. You watch in awe as this big wild animal becomes a soft cat under the hands of Mark Lee. When the boy encourages you to pat her too, you hesitate but he promises you that it’s gonna be alright and you take a leap of faith.

“What’s her sickness?” you wonder aloud as your fingers get lost in the soft fur of the tiger. You hope she’s not in a lot of pain.

“It’s an immune system thing, not sure what exactly but she wouldn’t have survived this long in the wild,” the boy tells you and his mouth curls up in a smile when Jasmine licks your hand. It seems like you’re tiger-approved. You look into its warm brown eyes and your heart churns at the thought of her condition.

Mark tells you stories of Jasmine, about that one time she crashed his birthday cake or how much she likes to swim with him in their pool during summer and gosh, you could listen to him go on and on forever. You’re only reminded of the reality, that all this is just a possible one-time thing, a weekend getaway with magic when Taeyong shows up in swimwear, ready to crash in said pool.

“I guess he might have been bored in that teapot,” Mark laughs, not minding at all. He even offers you to join but you have a better idea.

“Taeyong, I have my second wish!” you call out for the wish dragon who’s suddenly much more excited about that than the water. He’s beside you in a moment, beaming and curious. You glance at Mark with a soft smile before looking at your personal genie confidently.

“I wish Jasmine would be healthy,” you whisper, playing with the tiger’s furry ears which she seems to enjoy. You were a little bit afraid the dragon would say it’s not possible, that he can’t cure sickness but to your relief, he just grins.

“Your wish, my command,” he nods and puts a hand over the animal. Nothing but a smoke of purple signals the magic being done but you believe in it and so does Mark by the looks of it. He reaches out for your hand and squeezes it gently.

“Thank you,” he smiles and you smile back. He used to be your best friend after all, it’s the least you can do for him.

Mark convinces you to stay the weekend and there’s no way you could tell no to him, not when he clears his schedule just for you. He never complains about how busy he must be working for his father’s business while being a music major at a local university. All he ever talks about is the places he wishes to show you and he takes you around Seoul as if he was your certificated tour guide. It’s lovely how enthusiastic he is about it while what really matters to you is the time you spend together. He makes sure you two take a million photos to remember by, Taeyong posing on half of them since he joins you on your little trips and sometimes it’s just the two of you watching the wish dragon being genuinely in awe by modern technology, 10 years is a long time after all.

On the last day before you have to go back to Vancouver (thanks to Taeyong’s kind offer to take you the same way you came back since he misunderstood you, you don’t have to sit through a 10+ hours flight and you have more time), Mark not only tries to make you breakfast despite having an in-house chef (his eggs are ugly as heck but you appreciate his efforts and can’t help but coo at his dreamy smile under that grey hoodie when you tell him it tastes yummy) but he also introduces you to his friends in Korea. Of course, they tease you (mostly Mark) about where he has been hiding you but it’s all chill and fun you’re not quite ready to say goodbye. But you should go because the more you stay, the more you don’t want to leave. You’re lucky enough for this chance to reunite with Mark but all good things end eventually.

“Let’s not disappear from each other’s life again, okay?” the boy grins at you as you’re ready to go, Taeyong already working on his magic.

“Yeah, let’s not,” you agree easily, looking forward to your video chatting and constant texting even if it’s from the two opposite ends of the Earth with a terrible time zone difference.

You glance at the wish dragon who’s drumming with his fingers while pursing his lips as if he was waiting for something and you let out a huff before working up the courage to actually do something about these feelings inside of you. You might have regretted not confessing in middle school, you have spent years wondering about the what ifs, so you don’t want to make the same mistake twice but still, you want to give Mark a chance to ignore it all if he wants to. So you step forward and wrap your hands around him as you hug him close. It’s obvious that your action takes him aback, he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands and his body tenses under you but it all melts as you say those words that have been threatening to fall from your lips all this time:

“I have missed you.” you confess, honest and based on the hitch in his breathing, Mark must be surprised. You can’t blame him though, you just wanted him to know. You step back with a weary smile, his big Bambi eyes on you but before he could say anything you nod at Taeyong and you feel yourself falling, purple fog pulling you in. A few moments later you’re back in Vancouver, in your apartment, without him.

The first few days pass in a blurr, you can still barely believe what just happened. Your weekend with Mark feels like a too good dream but Mark kept his side of promise and texted you almost immediately as you left. He sends you selfies, songs that remind him of you and you talk about your days like you never did before. Still, it feels like you’re dancing around certain topics which are basically the elephant in the room and maybe that’s why Taeyong tries to cheer you up in his own way. Though, he soon realizes that you not being happy isn’t the problem, you are happy, you just… miss Mark more than you ever did.

“Enough of moping, you still have a wish left!” Taeyong exclaims, throwing himself onto your bed. “Come on, close your eyes, imagine what you want the most in the world and make a wish!" he singsongs. However, before you could even just indulge him, your phone pings with a new notification.

fullsun00 tagged you in their post!

You click on it right away, wondering what Mark’s friend Donghyuck is doing online at 1AM. The uploaded post turns out to be a photo of you and Mark when you all hang out near Han river. You were too busy at the time laughing at how the boy almost lost his whole scoop of ice cream before he could have had a single bite to notice his smile while looking at you. Based on his caption Donghyuck apparently wasn’t.

fullsun00: just old friends, they say. friends my ass @buttercupyn @onyourm__ark

You click your tongue wondering what Mark thinks of the callout but you press like on the post anyways. You put your phone aside before you could see how his other friends join the teasing in the comment section.

“Actually, I do have my third wish,” you speak up as you turn to Taeyong before he could make a remark on your tinted cheeks.

You’ve been thinking a lot about it during the past days. You could wish for anything but you’re at a point of your life where no riches or fame would make you happier because you’re happy enough just the way it is. It might not be perfect but you don’t want to be selfish and you want to make decisions you won’t regret: like catching up with Mark, curing his tiger and bringing happiness into the life of somebody who only ever served other people in his life.

“Ooh, what is it?” Taeyong claps, giddy as if he was waiting for this to happen. He probably did.

“I wish you would go on a vacation and enjoy life,” you tell him but unlike his usual reaction, this time the dragon’s smile fades and he blinks at you, confused.

“You could ask for anything in the world and that’s what you want? Are you sure?” he furrows his brows, not quite believing your words but you just smile, knowingly.

“Yes, Taeyong, I’m sure.”

“Your wish, my command,” he bows with his hands put together and with a twirl suddenly he’s in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, looking as ready for a holiday as one can be. You chuckle and tell him to just go, you’ll be fine.

You’re fine, you really are. Life goes on, you study and work, you laugh with your friends, you video call with Mark regularly and his friends are regulars on your social media, too. It’s just sometimes the feeling of missing something hits you harder than other days. Especially when you’re looking through the pictures you have from your Seoul weekend.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper ahead of you at one particularly good photo of Mark and the sunset, smiling at you behind the camera. You miss his smile, the cute wrinkles around his eyes when he crunches his nose, the sound of his laughter, his hand on your wrist… you miss him.

Ding-dong.

You stand up startled at the sound of your flat’s bell, running to the door to open it even though you have no idea who it could be so early on a Saturday morning. Not having a better idea, you expect it to be either a neighbour of your landlord but on the other side of your doorstep stands a boy who you thought was a continent away. He’s dressed semi-casually this time, his shirt tucked in his jeans, hair lightly falling onto his forehead and a nervous smile on his thin lips.

“Mark! But I⎼ I don’t even have more wishes,” you blink, taken aback, looking around to look for Taeyong in case he came back. But your behaviour just manages to confuse Mark instead.

“What?”

“I just wished you were here,” you blurt out without thinking, your words only processing later in your brain and it’s then when heat creeps onto your cheeks. Mark tries to but can’t really hide his growing smile at that.

“Really? I’m glad then. I just took my new private plane on a test drive,” he says bashfully, a silly excuse for real.

“All the way to Vancouver?” you tease, watching Mark fumble with the hem of his shirt. Your heart beats overtime just because of the fact that he’s there.

“Well, what can I say? I did miss the weather here,” he plays along with a shrug but he’s more serious when he looks deep into your eye and adds: “And you left without letting me answer.”

Oh yes, you did. You were kind of afraid of his reaction but seeing how he was ready to travel across the world just to see you, maybe there’s no reason for you to be so afraid. It feels like deja vu but a reversed one in a way as Mark gently pulls you into a hug, his lips grazing your hair with a whisper that makes your heart skip a beat: “I have missed you too.”

You really wouldn’t wish for anything more.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #mark lee x reader #mark lee x you #stories

60 notes · View notes

jtsfavslut · 4 years ago

Text

SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK [GD]

Description: No strings attached. That was the only rule.

Inspired by ‘SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK’ by Joji, with a happy ending.

Warnings: Soft Smut (barely anything)

Word Count: 3.09k+

Slow dancing. The only passionate dance where you can’t truly see your partners face. Such a passionate dance. That’s what Grayson felt his relationship with Y/N was. And it sort of was. It was supposed to be intimate and that was it. No feelings; Just pleasure.

Impersonal, is what some would call it. He knew her, he knew every inch of her, but not the way he wanted to know her. He wanted to know what she liked. What she disliked. Things that no one knew about her. Like her favorite band, which he already knew, but other things that were meaningful to her.

‘Gray come over’ was the text that had managed to break Grayson's thought process.

It was the person he wanted, but the wrong context.

With a sigh, he responded with an ‘omw’ and left his apartment and made his way to hers. A million thought racing past his mind as he drove until he was finally knocking on her door.

“S’missed you,” she muttered before pulling him inside, smashing her lips against his.

“Missed you too,” he whispered, but she didn’t hear it, he didn’t want her to anyways.

He meant it in a completely different way than she did.

“Gray,” she moaned at the feeling of his hands traveling around her body before she gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it off his body, as he did the same thing to her.

His lips latched onto her neck, painting a pretty picture which he was sure she was gonna remember him with.

“Fuck I’ve missed this,” she moaned at the feeling of his hands gripping her ass causing a smirk to spread across his face.

“Yeah? How bout’ this?” he asked before his hand moved down to cup one of her most private places, making shivers run down her spine.

“Mhm,” she moaned before her hand caught hold of his jaw, pulling his face up to her’s and pressing his plumped lips against hers. “Quit the teasing,” she muttered against his lips, a chuckle being his response.

“Yeah? What do you want?” he asked, making her groan.

He knew she hated that. She hated begging. The asking. The feeling of vulnerability.

Yet he was the only one, who made her feel that way. That made her beg, make her ask for what she wants.

“Come on angel, tell me, what do you want?” he asked, the small little pet name causing a field of butterflies to erupt in her stomach, while he blushed because it slipped.

“I want you, Grayson,” she muttered, slightly annoyed while Grayson’s ego grew.

“Then you have me. All of me,” he spoke, whispering the last part before laying her down on the couch, his hands quickly slipping her small biker-shorts off her body, his eyes traveling down her almost naked body, while his hands slipped the rest of their clothes off.

“Don’t take it easy on me Gray,” she smirked, making his eyes turn dark and cold, and full of lust.

“I wasn’t planning on to,” he smirked before slamming his dick in her pussy, a pleasure-filled scream falling past her lips.

“Oh my God Grayson don’t sto-...do- don't stop please,” she moaned, taking a second to gather her thoughts as her eyes paid a long visit to her brain.

“You like this? You like how I’m destroying your tight little pussy? You little whore,” he grunted making her eyes widened.

Not that she didn’t enjoy that, but Grayson wasn’t the type to use those types of words, at least with you.

“I do. I do so fucking much,” you moaned and felt his hand move from your back to pressing his thumb against your clit.

“Good,” he muttered before fasting his pace, causing a string of curse words to fall past her lips.

And that’s how it went. Teeth clashing, purple necks, toes curling, earth-shaking orgasms, multiple times.

“Oh my god, you’re gonna have to leave town every weekend,” she sighed out of breath while her hand was still tied to the headboard.

“I was still in town Y/N,” he said causing her eyes to widen, “Have you been with anyone else?”

“What? No. I’ve been talking to someone, but I think I got confused,” she said, her words stabbing his heart with every letter that it was made up of.

“Oh,” was the only thing he said before getting up, wrapping a blanket around his waist and walking over to her, untying the knot, freeing her hand.

“Where you going?” she asked when she noticed him walking away.

“Take a shower,” he muttered before walking away and leaving her alone on the bed.

And that’s how it went for a couple of weeks. She would text him the quick ‘come over’ and Grayson would be on his way like a lost puppy, while she did and didn’t do whatever she wanted.

This time Grayson said no.

He simply said no. Causing a frown to spread across her face at his attitude.

Maybe he’s having a bad day? Was her only thought.

She truly cared for him. Maybe not in the way that he wanted, but she really did.

With a sigh, she got up from the couch slipping up a pair of sweatpants with a simple t-shirt, and a dirty pair of air forces.

She left her small and humble apartment, got in her car, and drove to his. Her mind clouded with questions and a bit of pain.

Why was he so cold? Did he not want to do it anymore?

Those were the main questions. The only ones that she wanted an answer to.

So with a click of her key, she locked her car and made her way to his door.

After two knocks a confused and shirtless Grayson opened the door, sweat dripping down his forehead, probably from his workout.

“What are you doing here?” he casually asked, making her think he didn’t want her there.

“I came to check if you were okay,” she muttered, and a scoff was his only response for a couple of seconds.

“Why? Because I said no I wouldn’t be okay? Because I didn’t go crawling for you means I’m not okay?” he spoke as his words turned louder over time, hitting her with a pang of hurt because she had no idea of what he was referring to.

“What? No. I came because I care for you and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she whispered, suddenly being washed away with emotions.

We could say you were not a confrontational person, but when it came to people you cared about. So this? This, you were hating.

“You care?” he scoffed with a sarcastic laugh, “You care? Y/N do you? Do you really care? Or are you just saying this because I didn’t want to hook up with you?” he said earning a scoff from her.

“Alright, what is going on? This is not the Grayson I know. And no, I’m not just saying that because your feelings are more important than a quick hookup,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes at his sudden attitude.

“Grayson, I can’t finish myself up,” the girliest voice she thought she’s ever heard, shouted from inside his apartment, and she nodded her head with a chuckle

“I guess you’re completely fine, go finish her up Gray,” she sarcastically said before turning around and leaving.

Was she jealous? Maybe she was. But that wasn’t the reason why she was upset.

She was upset because he was her best friend. He was her best friend and he blew her off to be with a barbie wanna bitch, well that’s what she called her. The point was, she was hurt because he was angry at her. And she didn’t know why.

Meanwhile, Grayson was upset at himself. Thinking he ruined the only thing he had. Even if it’s not what he wanted, he at least had it in some way.

Even if it was impersonal, but now he had nothing, and he was angry.

“Leave. Please,” he told the girl once he walked into his bedroom.

“What?” she scoffed.

“I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood anymore,” he sighed, putting on one of his t-shirts when suddenly the scent made its way to his nose.

The scent of her perfume. A scent he adored so much. The scent of her. That scent represented her and no one else.

“It’s okay. I heard your conversation. You love her don’t you?” she asked, getting up from his bed and putting her clothes back on while he sighed.

“I don’t know. But I know she doesn’t feel the same way,” he said and she nodded her head and sat down next to him.

“Have you spoken to her about it? You never know until you try,”

“I didn’t think I could make it more obvious. I’m always replying to her texts as soon as I receive them. She says come over and I drop everything I’m doing and get there in under 5 minutes, I’m always making sure she doesn’t need or is missing anything. How more obvious can I be?” He spoke and she listened.

Meanwhile, Y/N had no one to vent to. No one to hear her, no one to listen to her.

She was confused. So confused when it came to her feelings. And Grayson knew that. She was always confused, so she wondered what she did to make him upset.

But she couldn’t come up with anything. She hadn’t done anything bad. She hadn't broken the rule, at least not verbally so what exactly did she do?

She decided to ask him. But not now. She thought he needed space so that’s what she’s going to give him and plenty of it.

Three weeks to be exact. She gave him three weeks before standing in front of his door and knocking on his door, except this time, a blonde girl opened it, with a smile that Y/N could see right through.

“Is Grayson here?” she spoke in a monotone voice.

“Yeah, why?” The girl asked, fixing the collar of her shirt.

“Can you tell him Y/N is here and that she needs to speak with him,” she said, the girl’s face dropping at the mention of her name.

“Sure,” she muttered before closing the door and walking to get him, which took a couple of minutes for unknown reasons.

“What?” he said after he opened the door, she looked down, refusing to look at his face.

“How’d you know?” was the only thing she asked. He stepped out and closed the door, not wanting his private conversation to be heard by anyone.

“What?”

“How’d you know I broke the rule? I never told you,” she said again and he shook his head.

“What rule Y/N? What are you talking about?” he asked, getting impatient.

“The one fucking rule. The one rule that said I wasn’t supposed to fall for you! How’d you know that I did? Because I never told anyone. Is that why you broke it off without any explaining whatsoever?” She questioned and finally looked up at him. Only three weeks and he already looked different, he had a beard, and his hair was a bit longer.

“I didn’t know that. That’s why I broke it off,” he whispered and she shook her head.

“Then what was it? Because you seem happy now. Just blow me off with no explanation. And who is she?”

“I stopped it because I fell in love with you. I fell in love from the minute I saw you walk out of the smoothie shop. And I knew you didn’t love me back, so I stopped it before I got more hurt,” he explained and she nodded her head.

“Who is she?” she asked again, disregarding his previous statement.

“Alex,” he whispered.

“Are you together?”

And when he stayed quiet, she knew. She knew they were.

She knew she had lost him. Lost him to someone she didn’t know existed.

She lost him because she wasn’t clear about her feelings. Or lost him because maybe they weren’t meant to be. After all, everything happens for a reason; Even if that reason makes no sense at the time.

“Bye Grayson. I wish you the best,” she spoke before turning around and leaving.

This was now the second time. The second time she left that building feeling heartbroken. The first being when she came to make sure he was okay and he blew her off, and this time he rejected her with no words.

It was true what they said. Mixing sex with friendships wasn’t always the best. And it was true. Maybe if she never introduced the idea at all and told him how she felt, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

But the many ‘what if’s’ were not helping at all. They were what if’s after all, an alternate universe of some sort, and that was it.

In the real world, she was lonely, and he wasn’t, and that was it.

Her apartment felt different. It did ever since she came back that day. It’s been two weeks and she no longer hears his obnoxious laugh that she loved to hear. His loud voice echoing through the hallways. His horrible singing voice coming out of the shower. Her giggles as he chased her through the apartment. Before his arms wrapped around her and he slammed her down on the couch, before pressing his lips against hers.

At that moment she should’ve known.

She should’ve known that she was desperately, and deeply falling in love with him.

And that he was with her.

She missed him. She truly did. She missed everything good about him and his bad habits.

She missed yelling at him to put the toilet seat down. She missed yelling at him to dry the counters after he made a mess with water after washing the dishes. She missed his cute corny dad jokes that made her laugh until tears were streaming down her face. She missed the way his hands felt when they were on her body. The feeling of his lips against hers. She just missed him.

And he missed her too. He missed getting yelled at, even when he found it annoying at the time. He missed chasing her around until he finally had her cornered and she had nowhere to go then picking her up. He missed her ‘come over’ texts. He missed her tiny hands wrapped around his neck. The way she chanted his name when he was hitting oh so perfectly. He just missed her.

They just missed each other. But they were too stubborn to go see each other. They were equally stubborn which wasn’t that good of a mix. Arguing over the silliest things. If Grayson saw green it was green, if Y/N saw blue it was blue.

“Grayson that was at least three times,” she argued and he shook his head.

“It was three,”

“It was not. If it was three we still wouldn't be here,” she scoffed.

“How are you gonna tell me how many times I threw the ball?” he asked, emphasizing the I.

“By telling you. I was watching you. It was five and the conversation is over,” she groaned before walking away. It takes two to argue, and by walking away she also had the last word,

And that’s just who they were. Argued over something silly, then be perfectly fine a couple of minutes after.

They also missed each other's presence. When you’re around a person almost all day, every day, and they’re suddenly gone, you don’t only miss them but you also miss the feeling of the person being there. And that’s what was happening, they were missing their energy.

Getting fed up with the waiting, and sadness, they both got up, at the same time, and walked to their cars and drove to each other's apartments, and knocked at the door, knocked but no one answered.

‘Open the door’ was the text that they sent to each other. Grayson quickly clicked the little phone icon and called her, each ring adding on to his nerves.

“Where are you?” he asked the second she answered.

“In front of your door, where are you?” she replied, anxiously chewing on her nails while walking back and forth.

“At your door. Stay where you. I’m on my way,” he replied and hung up, racing down the stairs and driving over the speed limit, what was usually a ten-minute drive turned into a five minute one.

Filled with so much emotion, a few tears manage to fall past his eyelids as he ran up the stairs to his apartment.

The sight of her nervously walking back and forth while chewing on her nails was enough to make his heart swell.

“Y/N,” he said, causing her to turn around and stop her pacing.

“I love you,” they both whispered before falling into each other.

“I love you so fucking much,” Grayson muttered against her hair, she tried to hold back her tears but couldn’t.

“I love you more. So fucking much Gray,” she said against his chest, the vibration running through his entire body.

“I missed you,” he said, picking her up before unlocking his door and walking inside.

“I missed you more,” she smiled as he sat her down on his island in the middle of his kitchen.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he said, making her chuckle.

“I’m serious, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you said looking away, his staring causing her to blush. “I missed your stupid loud laugh, and your horrible singing, your dumb jokes, I just missed you,” she said causing him to smile, he placed his finger on her jaw, softly turning her head so that she was facing him.

“I missed you too. I missed your cute and loud laugh. Your corny dad jokes, your little baking moments, yelling at me like you’re my mom, I missed my best friend and I missed you,” he spoke looking directly into her eyes.

“Remember when I told you not to follow me?” he randomly said and she sent him a look of confusion.

“I said ‘don’t follow me, you’ll end up in my arms’,” he said and she nodded her head.

“I was telling you, that I love you,”

Tags: @ghostlydolan @guiltydols @evergreendolan @blazedgraysons @rhyrhy462 @simplyxdolxstyles @thecoletomysprouse @ydolanssss @dolansdavidson @vintagedolan @dolanissues

182 notes · View notes

thatesqcrush · 4 years ago

Text

The Trip

Bryan Kneef x Reader. CW: NSFW. Oral sex (male & female receiving), p in v sex, some roughish sex, incl. choking, hair pulling, and spanking, some daddy! references & of course, language. Bryan being his usual asshole self. For holiday bingo: silver & gold. Dedicated to @beccabarba who is a super awesome person, writer, and friend. If you haven’t read her stuff - DO IT (after you read my story though, ha! JK, JK).

WC: 3.5k

You sighed in annoyance, fanning yourself with the pamphlet that you had been given. It was the annual ERISA Litigation Conference, taking place in Palm Beach, Florida. It was not how you had exactly planned spending your Christmas. Your parents extended their vacation in Europe and your sister had the flu. When your boss, Gavin Firth announced he needed a volunteer to attend the conference, you leaped at the chance. Spending a week in Florida, even for work, sounded like a vacation – something you not had in five years. Chicago at Christmas was brutally cold. No thank you.

You were stuck for the entire day at the Tideline Hotel and Spa, in “Conference Room B.” The luxurious hotel had gone all out with elaborate holiday decorations. Silver and gold reindeers and dark green garland with red holly berries flanked the hotel. Multiple Christmas trees adorned the lobby. The hotel added a menorah and a kinara for good measure as well.

There was an issue with the air conditioner in your conference room and all the other conference rooms were filled. You were sweltering. There was a small bar and you were waiting on a refill of a peach bellini when you noticed him walking in.

It was Bryan fucking Kneef.

The head of STR Laurie’s litigation department sauntered in, wearing a two-button linen suit with pick stitching and flat front trousers. The top button of the white shirt he wore under was unbuttoned, with a tuft of chest hair sticking out. He recognized you immediately and he made way, pausing briefly to greet to other litigators.

As Bryan approached you, he took off his sunglasses, revealing his bright green eyes. “Hello Y/N.”

“Hello Bryan; what are you doing here? I thought you had court this week.” You replied, as you took your drink from the bartender.

“Passed it off to Caleb. When I heard the conference was here in sunny Florida, I jumped at the chance.” Bryan made a jack off motion with his fist which earned a raised brow from you. “What a perfect way to blow off some steam on the firm’s dime?”

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning Bryan.” You replied, as he ordered a scotch from the bartender. “You need Jesus.” You rolled your eyes.

When he turned his attention away from you, you glanced back at him and eyed him carefully – he did look good. More than good as evidenced by the pool of desire that was growing between your legs. It was safe to say that you had a crush on him – how could you not with how attractive he was. And he was intelligent and a smart ass, with the sharpest of tongues. But his acrid attitude turned you off. He, however, loved to goad and hound you – ever since you joined the firm years ago. Before Caleb became his associate, you were his associate. There were countless nights where you would burn the midnight oil finishing his briefs while he was galivanting around Chicago sowing his seed. Aside from being worked to the bone, you learned a lot from him. Eventually, you worked your way out and were fast-tracked to junior partner.

Bryan felt as if he was being watched and he turned, catching you staring, which caused your cheeks to flush. You sure had grown up from being his associate. You were more beautiful than he remembered, with shapely hips and perky breasts encased in mint sleeveless sheath dress. Your lips appeared soft and lush and he zoned in on them as you chided him on his choice drink. He wondered how your lips would feel around his cock.

“Where are you sitting?” Bryan asked, shifting his stance as he felt his cock twitch.

“By the window, it’s too damn hot in here.” You replied. When he replied he would join you, you felt your heart race. You both settled and gave your breakfast orders to the hotel staff. Bryan removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

You squirmed in your seat – how could someone even make rolling up their sleeves sexy? You fanned yourself some more and chugged your drink.

The first day of conference went well overall. There were various speakers discussing issues such as fraudulent claims, insurance companies acting capriciously and how to be more effective with settlement demands. You took copious notes while Bryan dicked around on his phone.

The day ended in the early afternoon and you decided to use your time at the hotel pool. Purchasing a swimsuit in December had been a bit more difficult than you had imagined and the only thing you found at the last minute was a black single strap suit with a silver and gold diagonal stripe. The back was dangerously low and the swimsuit bottoms were cheeky, showing an ample amount of your ass. You wore a lace cover-up that had a very boho-chic feel to it. You paired it an oversized floppy hat and black sunglasses.

You made your way to the pool, armed with a book and a drink in another. You found a lounge chair and took off your cover-up. You laid on your stomach and read a few pages, feeling the warm sun on your skin. You felt your eyes begin to droop and you were about to give in to sleep when a voice spoke, causing you to jump. You saw Bryan standing over you. Your eyes trailed over his chest hair which was neatly trimmed and followed the vertical trail all the way down from his navel down to his short swim trunks which left nothing to the imagination. Bryan Kneef definitely was packing.

“Your ass is better than Memo 618.” Bryan licked his lips and you sat up, covering yourself. “This seat taken?” Bryan did not wait for you to answer, instead sitting at the edge of your chair.

You scooted up more in the chair and crossed your legs and arms, pushing up your tits further. Through his sunglasses, Bryan appreciated the view, noting if he just tugged the top a little, your tits would be exposed.

Two women in bikinis that left very little to the imagination walked by and Bryan peered up, taking off his sunglasses to leer at them. “Hi ladies.” The two women smirked at him and Bryan watched them walk away. You watch the scene before you and you suddenly feel self-conscious – you were still carrying some holiday weight – and holiday weight from years prior.

“I’m getting a new chair.” You announce loudly. “Nice seeing you Bry.” You gather your belongings and move to leave when Bryan grips your arm.

“Stay, come on. I figured we could catch up since I hardly see you around in the office and maybe tonight we could grab dinner.” Bryan replied. To your surprise, he seemed sincere.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked. “What – can’t get the Barbie bimbos?”

Bryan rolled his eyes. “It’s dinner – come on, we’re colleagues, we’re friends.” You gave him a look. “Okay, we’re colleagues.”

“Fine.” You acquiesce. “Go sit over there. You’re going to ruin my tan.” Bryan chuckled as he moved to the empty lounge chair. You roll back onto your stomach once more and start to dive into your book when you feel a pair of hands on you.

“What in the actual fucking fuck?” You swore and look over to see Bryan squeezing lotion onto his hand. He rubbed his large hands together. “You’re going to burn. Let me put some lotion on you.” His hands began to rub your back and you felt your desire skyrocket. He may have been an asshole, but the man’s touch… was something else.

As his hands moved lower and lower, you let your mind wander on what else his hands could do. You couldn’t help but let out a very soft moan in response as his hands moved up the backs of your thighs.

The chair creaked as Bryan stood. He crouched beside you, and pushed your hair back. “Just say the word and we can do much more than just dinner.” His fingers scraped gently along the back of your neck and you shivered. You stared at him, mouth agape as he sat back on the other chair, his arms behind his head, with a very smug and sure look on his face.

You met Bryan for dinner at the hotel restaurant, which had a 5 star Michelin rating. Bryan wore another linen suit and you wore a cream colored off the shoulder fitted dress with a sweetheart neckline. Large hoop earrings hung off your ears and you kept your makeup light and your hair loose. Bryan was ever the gentleman, helping you into your seat.

Dinner was going well, with drinks flowing a bit too easily. You could see why Bryan was the way he was, expecting things the way he did. The man was charming and suave. When not being a pissed off asshole, he was actually really easy to get along with. You discussed old cases and the merger with Reddick, Boseman & Lockhart and found you both had a mutual dislike for Diane Lockhart.

When the check arrived, Bryan insisted on paying, which you let him. Bryan watched as you knocked back the rest of your wine. You wiped your mouth on the napkin and met his eyes, which were blown with lust. Your brain screamed no, but the throb in your pussy said YES.

“Does your offer still stand?” You asked. Bryan noted the twinge in your voice.

Bryan grinned like the cat who caught the canary. “You bet your sweet ass it does.”

“When we get back to the office, not a word.” You moaned as Bryan sucked on your neck.

“When we get back to the office, I am going to fuck you there too.” Bryan murmured as he worked the back of your dress zipper. You turned around so he could unzip it fully. You pushed your dress down, until it pooled at your feet. You turned slowly and stepped out. You weren’t wearing a bra – just a tiny piece of fabric that dared called itself a thong. Bryan had quickly shed himself of his own clothes, just clad in boxers with a very sizeable tent evident.

“Do you have condoms?” You ask, drinking his near nude form in.

“No worries; I’m snipped.” Your brow arched, pleased with this information.

“Just as well. I’m on birth control.” You shrugged.

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” Bryan growled. He pulled you to him closely, kissing you deeply once more. His hands went to your ass, grabbing and squeezing the meaty flesh of your ass. You let out a moan and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, exploring. He tasted like mint and something else that was very much uniquely him and you wondered if he tasted the same below. Bryan picked you up easily by the backs of your thighs and carried you to the bed. You both fell onto the bed, a mess of tangled limbs. The two of you continued your heavy make out session, hands touching everywhere. Bryan sat up and took one of your breasts into his mouth. You threw your head back as his tongue licked one nipple while he firmly rolled and pinched the other. You writhed in his lap, feeling his cock grow even harder beneath you, if that was even possible. Bryan switched breasts and repeated his actions. His beard burned you in the best of ways, leaving red marks along your skin.

“Oh God!” You groaned as he suckled on your tit harder and then nipped you.

“Not God.” Bryan chuckled darkly. “Just me.”

You entwined your hands into Bryan’s dark hair, keeping him in place. “Do that again. That felt so fucking good.” Bryan smiled and did as you requested which earned another moan from you. Bryan licked the space between your breasts and then placed wet kisses along your abdomen. You momentarily felt self conscious of your stomach but that thought was quickly forgotten as Bryan pulled your thong to the side and buried his face into your hot needy cunt.

Bryan ate you out like a man possessed, his tongue mimicking what he planned to do you later. He was relentless in his actions, gripping you tightly to his face. You hips undulated against his mouth as he alternated between burying his tongue into you and lapping at your folds. He snaked two fingers into you and began to finger fuck you, while his tongue found your swollen bundle of nerves and stayed there. The sounds that emanated – helpless and uncontrolled sighs and wails which go straight to Bryan’s cock. As he stroked the sweet spot inside of you, you let a deep guttural groan. You came hard, your thighs gripping the sides of his face tightly. Bryan continued to lap at you through your orgasm and your second orgasm approached fairly quickly.

Bryan takes a moment to remove his mouth from you, but he continues to rub haphazard circles on your clit. It’s beautiful when you come. Your back is arched towards the ceiling, your thighs tremble and shake. A light sheen of sweated coated your skin.

You threw your hands over your face as you let out a giggle. You had never experienced oral sex like this before. The man’s tongue was clearly sharp both in and out of the bedroom. “Holy shit!” You panted.

Bryan climbed over you, kissing the space between your breasts once more and then covered his body with yours, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on him and it just spurred your desire.

“Let me return the favor.” You murmured and Bryan was quick to roll himself over, shedding himself of his boxers. His massive cock sprung, falling back on his taut belly, with a heavy smack. Your eyes widen slightly as you take his size and girth in with an equally proportionate sack.

You spat into your hand and reached up to jerk his cock. His cock feels thick, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers graze the ridges and veins of his engorged cock before taking him into your mouth. Bryan hissed and he wrapped both of his hands into your hair, guiding your mouth on his cock. He had to will himself to not just fuck your mouth and completely unload. ‘No, no’ Bryan thinks to himself, deciding to save that idea for another day.

“You’re such a good little cocksucker.” Bryan praised and you squealed in response, though the sound was muffled because your mouth was full. The taste of his pre-cum flooded your mouth. You pulled away to take a brief breather, a strand of saliva connected you to him. You continued to use your hand to help you before taking more of his length into your mouth, triggering your gag reflex. The sounds of your mouth slobbering all over his cock drove Bryan crazy. You didn’t ease up. You reached up and gently cradled his balls, massaging them softly. Bryan let out a grunt of surprise as you dipped your head down and sucked gently on his balls, using your hand to jerk him.

“Enough.” Bryan barked. “I want to fuck that pussy.” He climbs off the bed, reaching over to grab the hotel bed pillows and stacks them one on top of the other. “All fours.”

You realize what he is doing and you climb into position. Your ass was up in the air, the rest of your bod diagonal, with your head to the side. You let out a squeal as Bryan smacks your ass, the sting burning your skin briefly.

Bryan positions himself behind you and runs his cock along your soaked pussy. You push against him, eager to feel him inside of you. Again, teasingly, Bryan rubbed his cock against your folds, barely just slipping in. You whimpered in protest.

“Please.” You desperately begged. “Fucking fill me up with that big fat cock of yours.”

In one movement, Bryan slid his cock into you. You gasped at the fullness. You gripped the sheets as you felt his balls nestle at your pussy. He filled you so completely that it took your breath right out of you. Bryan began to slowly piston in and out of you, watching as his cock disappeared into your warm sheath. He rotated his hips, before coming to a still causing you to mewl and whimper.

You were close to the precipice and not in the mood for niceties. “Come on, I’m not gonna break,” you gritted. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

That earned two spanks in succession as Bryan growled in response quickening his tempo. The headboard of the bed banged against the wall as he fucked you hard. His hands gripped your hips tightly; you were certain there would be bruises in the morning.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight and wet.” Bryan grunted, spanking you some more.

“All for you.” You whined, pushing back and meeting his thrusts. “Give it to me Bry. I want to come!”

“This is my pussy.” Bryan grunted, leaning his weight over you and twisting your hair into his palm. He pulled you back hard, the pain of it should have alarmed you, instead, you gave into it, craving more. You were flush against him, your back to his chest and he fucked up into you. Your mouth grew slack and your eyes fluttered close as he wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing. His other hand found your clit and began to rub again.

“I… I…” you babbled incoherently, your mind was going fuzzy with the pleasure you were feeling. Without warning, Bryan pulled out of you, rolling onto his back.

He held his cock straight up and looked at you expectantly. You felt your self-consciousness rear its ugly head at the idea of riding him.

“I can’t.” You replied weakly. Bryan gave you a look that could only be described as ‘what the fuck.’ His eyes turned dark and stony and his face hardened.

“You can and you will.” Bryan replied with confidence.

“I’m too heavy.” You bemoaned.

Bryan let go of his cock and slapped the outside of his thigh. “I’m a grown fucking man. Come on and ride daddy’s cock like a good girl.”

You nodded and Bryan reached for you, pulling you on top of him. You followed his lead, reaching down to grab his cock. You noticed your essence all over his cock and you groaned internally before you climbed onto him and sunk into his cock. You began to roll your hips. Bryan’s own eyes fluttered close and his hands were on your hips, guiding you.

“Fuuuck.” Bryan growled, thrusting his hips up to meet you. He leaned you down and took a breast into his mouth, as he jack-hammered into you. You cried out again and reached down to rub your swollen nub.

“Are you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

“I am going to… oh Bryan, fuck! Just like that.” You gasped.

“Come for me.” He commanded with a grunt, gripping your hips tightly as he pounded into you. “Cream on daddy’s cock.”

You wailed Bryan’s name as you came completely undone. Feeling your walls flutter around his cock, seeing your wrecked face - it was all too much for Bryan and he came, stiffening as he emptied his hot creamy load into you. Murmurs of “let my pussy milk that cock,” left your lips.

“That’s it, take it like a good girl.” Bryan rumbled, deep and low. Your eyes were squeezed shut and you could feel his load drip out of your pussy and pool in between your bodies.

You collapsed against Bryan, falling into a heap as you came down back to reality. Bryan pressed a kiss to your head, before gently lifting your face to give you a soft kiss. eventually peeled your sweaty body off of him. You laid next to each other, your chests heaving, each trying to catch your breath.

You rolled onto your side, facing Bryan. You ran your hand through his chest hair. “That was … wow.”

Bryan gave you a shit-eating grin. “Can’t wait to do that again.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips and climbed over him, one leg over each side of his face. Bryan smirked as he realized what you were doing. “Why wait?” You asked, your voice dripped with lust.

“I hope you don’t suffocate me.” He teased with a wink. You rolled your eyes and went to make a smart remark when he surprised you by pulling you down onto his face, his tongue doing all sorts of wonderful things. You let out a surprised ‘fuck!’ and looked down at him. Bryan looked up at you, his mouth left you briefly. “Oh but what a way to go - you will need to take over my caseload when we go back.” He replied before devouring you once more.

FIN.

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867 @permanentlydizzy @bisexual-dreamer02 @madamsnape921 @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents

#bryan kneef x reader #bryan kneef smut #Bryan kneef imagine #bryan kneef and reader #brian kneef x reader #brian kneef smut #the good fight smut #the good fight imagine #bryan kneef #thatesqcrush holiday bingo

120 notes · View notes

locktobre · 3 years ago

Text

bcbd thoughts

right away I see that this is only an hour long, so... it’s not a movie, then. it’s a one hour special, again. I feel like I’m already gonna miss the extra 20 minutes just like dolphin magic but we’ll see I guess. maybe it’ll be a mercy that it’s shorter.

the opening credits/dream sequence was nice. the animation on the city is decent, and the monochrome thing was kind of cool.

her being on stage reminded me a little of Eden, and then immediately I missed Eden so much. they would never let a version of Babs be a bitch now and that’s such a shame.

so now we’re joking about George tracking Barbie’s cell phone? bc that’s fine and not at all an invasion of privacy or anything. also, you can check flight statuses on the internet so that’s really not necessary. also, why the fuck didn’t Barbie call them once she got off the plane? or at least text? I always text or call my mom when I land, and frankly I’m not even as close to my mom as Barbie claims to be to her parents. and I did that when I was 17 traveling alone, too, so it’s not just something I do as an adult. it’s part of the responsibility of traveling to let ppl know that you got somewhere safe so they don’t worry about you. what the fuck Babs.

was that honking supposed to be like censoring the cabbie swearing bc I would love that. let the cabbie say fuck.

I still maintain that this “summer program” thing is bullshit and Babs should have been going off to college. I know they won’t let her grow up but it makes more sense than this does. also, you’re telling me there’s no summer programs for acting/whatever in LA? seriously? she HAD to go across the country for this? and her parents let her? they don’t even trust her! they said that 2 seconds ago! or is tracking her cell phone the reason she’s allowed to travel across the country (to Willows and Florida and Hawaii) by herself in the first place? I hate this I hate it so much already

The Handler Arts Academy... oh I’m feeling emotions

“luck’s got nothing to do with it. you worked your tail off for this” SHOW ME FOR WHEN, PLEASE. this could have been an actual arc of the show, a goal Barbie was working towards that could thread thru multiple episodes... but no. this came out of nowhere. I’m STILL saying that Amelia bought Barbie’s place here bc FUCK YOU SHOW

“I hope I’m good enough” you’re a mediocre rich white woman, you can do literally anything you want.

why is her guitar shoved in a cardboard box and not, idk, in a guitar case? that’s stupid. also, that’s an open cardboard box, so how did that travel on the plane? a closed cardboard box, fine. should be a suitcase, but fine. but this just makes no sense and I am not going to let it slide bc I hate this continuity and everything about it.

however, I will give Brooklyn a pass for the open cardboard box bc she literally lives in NYC and didn’t have to take a fucking plane to get here. she can carry it like that if she wants.

“as long as you don’t break [my leg], we’re good” I’ve already seen Brooklyn in a cast, so... does Malibu literally break her leg later on? even on accident... jesus christ.

is this Russian(?) custodian lady gonna be the antagonist/villain? bc I’m already not vibing with that. not at fucking all.

how the FUCK could they show up a day early? why would they not show up on the day they’re supposed to? that doesn’t make any sense! and if they’re NOT supposed to be there yet, then there would be no staff there to watch them, so they should have to come back tomorrow! they shouldn’t be allowed to be by themselves in a school like this! I’m assuming this is to facilitate a day of bonding without stupid things like classes in the way, but they could have written an orientation day or something in that would have made more sense, and as I said, I am not inclined to give them a pass on anything these days. fuck you all.

so, room assignments are alphabetical... I guess that kind of explains them being in the same room, altho it does feel coincidental that they wouldn’t be, like, in neighboring rooms. also they didn’t animate little signs on the other doors, even with nonsense text if they didn’t want to put other names up, so their door really sticks out for no reason. also, shouldn’t it say “Barbie Roberts & Barbie Roberts” or some other way of having both names on the door? also, if the school knows they have the same name, couldn’t they put middle initials or something? we know Malibu is Barbie M. Roberts, and I will generously assume that Brooklyn’s middle name is something else, so that would have been fine. this really feels like the administrators don’t give a fuck, and in a supposedly prestigious school, I don’t buy that.

so, Brooklyn has been training every summer in different programs, very intensely, to get in here... and Malibu trained on the internet. what have I been saying about Malibu’s white mediocrity? hmm?

even after that (lackluster) montage, it feels way too soon for “Before Us.” I don’t believe they’re best friends who warrant a song about their friendship. I don’t believe that at all.

I like the bald fashionista being on the billboard, that’s a nice touch.

Malibu bringing up her vlog like that gives me hives. she has already stated multiple times that she does that to help ppl, not for clout, and yet. here she is. being a fake ass bitch once again.

Brooklyn and Emmie’s story is already way more interesting than this and I’m pissed that’s just backstory.

LOVE that green-haired dude. idk where you’re going with that drum but godspeed my dude.

I’m assuming that’s Emmie incognito in the back, but... what’s she doing here if she’s already famous? pulling an Erika Juno?

Dean Morrison seems cool

(is it too early to ship Brooklyn x Emmie?)

if pets are allowed in this school, I’m SHOCKED Malibu didn’t bring Taffy. truly fucking shocked.

Rafa reminds me so much of Jacques Rousseau

“the only labels we believe in are designer” so Rafa’s gay, right? Barbie’s first gay character? I can only assume

the ballet thing still doesn’t make sense to me, if their goal is to be on Broadway. ballet is an entire art and discipline in itself.

fencing makes more sense, bc stage fighting is a thing.

‘work it’ is even funnier than I imagined. Malibu you’re such a fuck up. and I can’t even cut you some slack bc earlier you said your training was “internet.” you didn’t work for this and you don’t belong here. die.

if this was PCS, Malibu would have been kicked out already. YOU WERE NOT PREPARED FOR THIS. WHAT HAVE I BEEN SAYING FOR MONTHS.

so, the ‘work it’ montage clearly showed the passage of time, it’s been at least a week, and... Malibu hasn’t talked to Ken at all during that time? this is the first time she’s telling him about Brooklyn?

ok, confirmed to be a week. and she hasn’t talked to Ken. of course. they are so close of course she hasn’t talked to him in a week, especially when she’s been struggling so much and would need to vent to a friend about it. of course.

so, Emmie is pulling an Erika Juno. at least she’s in disguise.

jesus christ, they’re really having Emmie be exploited by her own father??? JESUS.

ok Brooklyn x Emmie is sailing.

Brooklyn’s mom is an airline pilot, that sounds cool.

so the dresses are powered by the magic of friendship? cool. that’s stupid.

of COURSE Emmie’s dad is the board member. jesus christ I hate this dude.

okay, so she DIDN’T break her leg, it’s only a sprain. thank god. poor green-haired drum dude.

saying “epic fail” in 2021 unironically is not cool, mattel. unless I’m even more out of touch with the youth than I thought, but I’m pretty sure about that.

wait, so Brooklyn was dancing... and now she’s on crutches again? what is this montage? they fucked up here.

of all things to kick Malibu out for, they’re saying she pushed Brooklyn? why not all the fuck ups in her first week?

also, Rafa was taping that class so how do they not bring that up immediately? that’s the whole reason they were dancing over there in the first place! (so he might not have caught anything, but still, I have to assume that’s going to fix this bc that’s what these movies do.)

I really like Malibu’s leather jacket look, but she does look a little bit old I think. Brooklyn’s leggings look is nice, too.

okay, so Brooklyn suddenly believes the unnamed witness over the girl she sang ‘before us’ with? okay. I told you this friendship was a crock of shit. they don’t trust each other at all! Brooklyn should have been angry when she first fell, and it builds to thinking that she was sabotaged, but she brushed it off... and now she’s pissed. that makes no sense.

this friendship breakup song also means nothing to me bc their friendship fell apart for such a stupid reason. fate didn’t tear you apart, you tore yourselves apart by not trusting each other. stupid little children.

if Brooklyn’s ankle isn’t completely healed aka still painful, she should not be dancing on it, she could injure herself more or at least prolong the healing process.

ok, so NOW, after Malibu has already been expelled and sent back home, they remembered the video. these kids are so fucking stupid. and of COURSE the unnamed witness is Mr Miller! Emmie, you ALREADY KNOW that your dad is shady as shit and wants you to get the Spotlight Solo! HOW DID YOU NOT PUT THIS TOGETHER IN 5 SECONDS? I DID

so, Mr Miller thought Malibu was Emmie’s biggest competition for the solo? Malibu, the spectacular fuck up? not Brooklyn? or any of the background extras? I refuse to fucking believe that. I REFUSE.

how did George and Margaret just let Malibu get expelled without flying out there to fight the charge? seriously?

how is is Brooklyn singing ‘before us’ in-universe such that Malibu recognizes it? you’re breaking the conventions of musicals! I don’t get this!

I like Brooklyn’s mom being a pilot less after it’s been used to facilitate this bullshit part of the plot.

again, just “Barbie Roberts” makes no sense. where’s a middle initial to differentiate them! SOMETHING! I know they’re doing the finale together, but still, it’s STUPID.

shipping Rafa x green-haired drummer dude bc I can

where’s the Emmie doll for this movie?????? I’m so disappointed. also the other outfits, the leather jacket and leggings ones, I swear those weren’t dolls either. what the fuck

I see more fashionistas on billboards at the end! I really like that

so the custodian wasn’t a villain... then why that introduction for her? that went nowhere

is “Big City Big Dreams” supposed to be Emmie’s song? that Malibu lips-synced to on her vlog (apparently)? I can’t tell by the voice and they don’t list the voices for the songs in the credits

overall, once again it largely made no sense. idk if it would have benefitted from 20 extra minutes of screentime bc nothing really happened.

also, what the fuck happened to Mr Miller? he just keeps on exploiting his daughter? and for that matter, what happened to Emmie’s mom? bc she lived with her, and then all of the sudden her dad was in her life again and exploiting her, so... what did mom die? did he kill her? what am I supposed to think? and Emmie’s STILL stuck in that situation? girl. what the fuck

also of course they were too cowardly to confirm anything about Rafa. of course.

#mel irl #barbie babbles #bcbd #barbie spoilers

12 notes · View notes

et-lesailes · 5 years ago

Photo

title: the inside scoop

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2461

summary: you are a reporter with a certain favorite celebrity to interview, and you’re more than excited to talk to him about his latest movie, knives out. little do you know that your massive crush on him is actually requited.

themes: fluff

taglist: @evanstush, @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @whysparker, @sebastian-i-stan, @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly, @denisemarieangelina, @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @ifuseekamyevans, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @savemesteeb, @raveviolet, @inactivewhore, @hurricanerinwrites

notes: this was a commissioned piece requested by @straightforwardly ! thank you so much for supporting me and i hope this is everything you wanted :) ** if you are interested in my commissions, check out this post right here !

You’re quickly wrapping up with hair and makeup, looking at your reflection in the mirror trying not to smile so much. You were particularly happy to wake up for work that day, all because of who you’re interviewing today.

You’ve had the pleasure of working with Chris Evans a few times before, and while at first it was his looks that drew you in, it didn’t take long for you to simply fall in love with his entire being. The first time was a little nerve wracking. You had seen other interviews where he seemed a little grumpy, tired, and annoyed with the questions he was being asked, and so you had put as much thought into your own questions as possible. You refused to be like the other journalists and reporters, the ones who simply asked Marvel related questions or how he worked out. It was easy to see that this man had personality much deeper than that, and you were always eager to explore it. You remember how your heart had been pounding right before that first interview, but the second the two of you started talking, it was simply… amazing. Despite only having known him for minutes, you had already felt perfectly comfortable and secure with him, as if you had known him for years. You had heard from others that he had that effect on people, but you never imagined it was to that extent.

Now here you are, getting ready for your fifth interview with him. Another thing you love about Chris is that he actually remembers who you are, each and every time. It always makes you feel special, though you have to remind yourself to calm down- he’s simply considerate and personable, he probably remembers other reporters he’s seen multiple times too.

“Alright, you’re all set. Chris finished up a few minutes ago, he’s probably out there getting seated.” The stylist tells you, and you smile up at him with a nod. “Thank you!” Standing up, you take a deep breath as you inspect yourself in the mirror. You’ve become used to seeing celebrities as a part of your job, but Chris is the only one who has your heart racing and butterflies fluttering. Even interviewing Jason Momoa for Aquaman couldn’t get you as simultaneously excited and nervous as appearing before Chris; you have the biggest crush on him, but at the same time, what can you do about it? Honestly, you’re convinced he probably has a secret girlfriend- it simply makes no sense to you that a man like him is single.

‘Thank God for hair and makeup,’ you think to yourself, pleased with your appearance- it’s not too overdone, but just the right amount, mainly just so the lighting doesn’t wash you out on camera. You gather your cards and take another breath, forcing yourself to calm down before going out to where the chairs are- you were hoping to play it cool, but the second you see him, a wide smile emerges on your face. How a man can look so handsome simply sitting there wearing a long sleeve maroon sweater and fitted jeans while playing around with a water bottle in his hands, you have no idea. “Hi there! Sorry to keep you waiting.” You greet him, and he looks up, immediately grinning. “Oh, hey, Y/N!” To your surprise, he stands up and extends his arms out for a hug, pulling you in for a warm embrace as if you’re a longtime friend he hasn’t seen in a while. You’re shocked but you quickly take the opportunity to hug him back, resisting the urge to inhale how damn good he smells. His broad chest feels so warm and perfect against you, and you swear you could be in this position forever.

“How have you been?” you ask as normally as you can, finally pulling back with a smile and gesturing for him to sit as you do as well. “Oh, same old, same old. I have to say though, I’ve been looking forward to this. I love interviewing with you, you always ask such awesome questions!” he compliments you, and you’re squealing on the inside. “Ahh, now I feel so much pressure!” you joke, though give him an appreciative smile as you cross your legs. “Thank you, though. That means a lot, I really do try to avoid the questions actors seem to hear all the time.”

“I’ve noticed, and I appreciate it.” Chris replies with a smile, his blue eyes sparkling more beautifully than the goddamn ocean. It’s truly overwhelming how handsome he is; you feel as though looking at him is like staring right into the sun sometimes. “I’m glad to hear that,” you say somewhat shyly, but clear your throat, glancing towards the cameraman. “We ready to start?”

“All good,” he replies with a thumbs up, and you wait for the signal before beginning with a smile. “Hello, everyone! I’m Y/N, and I’m here with Chris Evans today to talk a little about his latest movie, Knives Out!” Chris waves to the camera with a little smile, but almost immediately looks back towards you. “Glad to be here, Y/N.” God, you love when he says your name. ‘Hold it together, Y/N.’ You think to yourself; thankfully, your job basically consists of looking composed on the outside, and so you’ve at least had plenty of practice.

You give a brief summary of the movie to begin, then go into speaking about his character, Ransom. Looking towards him, you tilt your head slightly. “Now I know you played the ultimate golden boy when it came to Captain America, but a lot of your roles in the past have actually had a more twisted and angsty side. Curtis Everett in Snowpiercer, Syd in London, Mike Weiss in Puncture, and especially Bryce Langley in Fierce People. Was it a difficult adjustment going back to playing a more villainous character, or did you have a good time with it?”

“Wow. Even bringing out Fierce People, huh? You really did your research,” he teases, making you laugh softly before he continues to answer, looking thoughtful. “Honestly, it was pretty fun. Don’t get me wrong, I loved playing Captain America and the other lighter, comedic roles are fun too. But being a little wicked and vile is pretty entertaining as an actor. I missed it a lot, and I think I clicked with it again pretty easily.” He pauses before laughing, looking at the camera. “I make that seem like I’m just naturally an evil person. Like, ‘Yeah, it’s so easy for me to be an asshole on camera- because I am one in real life!’” he makes fun of himself, and you can’t help but laugh again as you reply playfully, “Well, you are from Boston, aren’t you? What are they called over there? Massholes?” He blinks and laughs loudly, grabbing his left pec which only makes you giggle to yourself and feel oddly triumphant at the same time. You love making him laugh. “Oh God, you’ve heard that term? Yeah, I’d say that definitely describes me pretty well.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re not that bad.” You remark playfully, then realize you should probably stop transitioning this interview into flirtatious banter, and so you decide to move on to the next question. “Now for this particular movie, you have a variety of actors and actresses around you- some who are insanely experienced and have been in the industry for decades, and some who, while experienced, are young and only continue to climb upwards in their career. How did you feel, being a part of that? Does it bring back memories, does it influence you, do you influence or guide them?” you ask curiously, continuing, “You’re such an accomplished actor, and this cast was pretty remarkable as well- I imagine there were all sorts of different feelings working with them.”

Chris nods as he listens carefully, smiling and even looking somewhat intrigued. “That’s a great question. Yeah, I was definitely pretty nervous actually. I really wanted this role, and I was kind of intimidated going into it all. These people are amazing, honestly. I feel like I’ve learned so much from them, from Daniel to Jaeden, and I can only hope that I’m able to be a good influence on other actors as the ones I look up to are to me. It’s interesting that you mention memories, though. Seeing younger actors and actresses always reminds me of myself when I was younger- and then proceeds to make me feel very old.” He laughs, shaking his head to himself. “But watching Jaeden and Katherine, God, they’re great. They have such drive, ambition, and they’ve already made it so far. They’re so fun and I’m pretty sure I was nowhere near as talented as them at that age, but I definitely remember having that energy.”

You can’t help but smile as you listen to him. You’ve seen in other interviews that he wants to start a family one day, and that he’s excited to be a father. It’s adorable to you that he appreciates younger castmates so much, and even shows respect to them as actors. “You don’t think you still have that energy?” you tease, and he laughs, making an “eh” gesture with his hand. “Sometimes, but I’m telling you, I’ve gotten old. Years of action movies and stunts will do that to you,” he jokes, and you remember that he actually did a lot of his own stunts for the Captain America movies- no wonder he has such nice muscles. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you certainly don’t look old.” You can’t help but reply, but glance back down at your cards, forcing yourself to stay on track. The cameraman, one of your friends, is probably snickering to himself, and you bet you’re going to get quite interesting comments once this video is uploaded. How can you not go back and forth with him though, just a little? He makes it so easy, what with his perfect sense of humor, contagious laugh, and mere eye contact. He makes you feel like a person, a friend, not just some nosy reporter.

After a few more questions (and a teensy bit of flirting), the interview finally comes to an end. “I hope you guys are excited to watch this movie, because I’m telling you, it’s a good one- and I think everyone will be very entertained by Ransom Drysdale.” You remark with a raised brow, looking to him with a soft laugh. “Thank you for coming, Chris!” He smiles charmingly, waving at the camera. “Thanks for having me, Y/N. I had a great time.”

The cameraman signals that he’s stopped recording, but flashes you a little smirk before turning to the crew to discuss the work that needs to happen next. You blush slightly but clear your throat, looking up at him- you hate this part because he’ll have to leave soon, but you’re hoping you can squeeze in just a little conversation before that happens. “Seriously, thanks again. Honestly, you’re one of my favorite celebrities to interview,” you admit with a slight laugh, biting your lip. “You actually answer with… depth.” He laughs too, barely leaning forward. “Oh, yeah? Are you accusing celebrities of being airheads?”

“Some of them!” you can’t help but answer bluntly, and both of you are laughing again. Now he bites his lip, suddenly looking at you a little more intensely than before- you hope your cheeks aren’t becoming as red as they feel. “Hey, Y/N. Can I ask you something?” You nod a little too fast, your curiosity piqued. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Do you, uh…” he pauses for a few moments before chuckling slightly, waving his hand. “Ah, fuggit, I’m just gonna come out with it.” His Boston accent comes out even stronger than usual as he swears, and you love and hate how attractive it sounds. “Are you dating anyone?”

Your heart is pounding at this point, and you have to force yourself to respond in a way in which your voice doesn’t shake. “No, I’m not.” You cock your head, holding back a smile. “Why do you ask…?” He seems to look pleased about this, even visibly perking up before suddenly looking uncertain again, laughing awkwardly. “Okay. Okay, um, please tell me if this is crossing any lines. Like, please. Don’t be scared to slap me, even.” He jokes, and now you’re feeling the excitement bubbling up inside, though at the same time your brain is screaming at you not to raise your hopes up. “I have permission to slap you. Noted.” You tease in return, proud of yourself that you still somehow seem to have your wits intact. He laughs, eyes twinkling as he continues, “I know we’ve only had a professional relationship but… I was… kinda hoping I could take you out sometime. Dinner, walking the dog, a movie, ice cream, roller skating- anything. I just… man, I really want to get to know you.” He confesses, and it takes you everything to not practically jump up and down and squeal right there. You’re shocked. You truly never thought that someone as famous and attractive as him would be interested in a mere reporter.

“Chris.” You smile widely, nothing but eagerness in your sparkling eyes. “I would love that.” You blush slightly, adding, “If we’re being honest, I’ve had a crush on you for like, years now.” Chris widens his eyes, scoffing in playful frustration as he buries his head in his hands. “You’re serious? God dammit, I knew I should have asked you earlier!” He looks up at you again, sighing deeply. “I really just assumed you were dating someone. Hell, even married. I mean, look at you, you’re gorgeous, funny, smart…. And you have depth.” He refers to your previous comment, and you laugh, though blush madly as you do so. “Thanks,” you reply softly- you swear you’ve never felt this much happiness in your life.

His manager comes up behind him, gently tapping his shoulder. “Chris, we should get going. We have another interview to get to.” He blinks, looking somewhat disappointed but nods, looking back to you. “Mind if I get your number, then? We can talk later?”

You nod, biting your lip delightedly as he hands you his phone as if you’re a child receiving a king sized candy bar. After putting your number in, you give it back- only to be wrapped up in another hug from him. “I’ll see ya real soon,” he whispers in your ear, and you’re blushing even deeper than before, though you nod with a little giggle.

“I can’t wait.”

#chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans drabble #chris evans fanfiction #rhee commissions

437 notes · View notes

salvatoreschool · 4 years ago

Text

Vampire Diaries Universe: The 25 Best Characters, Ranked

For the first time since 2009, we’re entering a fall season devoid of any new offerings from the Vampire Diaries universe. And like Stefan Salvatore without his daily diet of forest friends, we’re insatiable.

Like so many longtime TVD enthusiasts (those of us to whom the word “thesmatos” really means something!), we’ve spent much of quarantine revisiting the weird, wonderful universe — from Mystic Falls to New Orleans and back again. We’re suddenly spending a lot of time with characters we haven’t seen in years. And we’re having a lot of feelings about them.

In celebration of the franchise’s 11th anniversary, TVLine has assembled another totally non-controversial ranking, this time of the 25 best characters from the Vampire Diaries universe — a category that also includes familiar faces from The Originals and Legacies. (In Legacies‘ defense, the franchise’s latest offshoot hasn’t been around as long to endear itself to us, but that didn’t stop four Salvatore School students from making their way onto our list.)

In lieu of new content from the TVD universe this fall, TVLine is looking back at our 25 favorite characters from the entire franchise, including stand-out favorites from its two spinoffs.

SPOILER ALERT: This ranking discusses major plot points from all three shows. If you haven’t finished The Vampire Diaries (Season 1-8), The Originals (Season 1-5) or Legacies (Season 1-2), proceed at your own risk. Don’t say we didn’t warn you!

25. VINCENT GRIFFITH

Thanks to the magic of body swapping, the Mikaelson siblings have inhabited multiple physical vessels throughout the years, but none have remained in the family’s orbit quite like this Southern gentleman. Powerful, thoughtful and downright Shakespearean in his delivery (Yusuf Gatewood, ladies and gentlemen!), Vincent always has the greater good in mind. And as we learned in The Originals’ series finale, he helped Freya and Keelan pass that good along to the next generation.

24. LANDON KIRBY

Even though we’re still getting to know him, there’s already so much to like about this pure-hearted Mystic Falls townie. Not only is he the franchise’s first-ever phoenix, but he also looks like he could pass for Damon and Elena’s offspring — and that’s never a bad thing. We could tell he had a long future in this universe the moment he danced with Hope in The Originals’ final season. (So far, so good!)

23. JENNA SOMMERS

Like so many paved paradises, we didn’t fully appreciate what we had with Jenna until she was gone. Her death marked the end of Elena’s innocence — which is saying a lot, considering she was still mourning her own parents when The Vampire Diaries began. And if we’re being honest, Jenna was the ghost we were most excited to see again in the series finale. (For the record, Joseph Morgan has apologized on Klaus’ behalf for killing Jenna several times.)

22. TYLER LOCKWOOD

The First Son of Mystic Falls was kind of a jerk when we met him in The Vampire Diaries‘ first season. He was arrogant, aggressive and reckless — so it actually made perfect sense when he was revealed to be a werewolf. Fortunately, Michael Trevino’s character developed a little more nuance from that point on, especially via his Romeo and Juliet romance with Caroline. (After everything that’s happened since 2013, can you believe that they were once in a love triangle with Klaus?)

21. JEREMY GILBERT

Elena’s little brother (er, cousin?) went through a number of different, wonderful phases during his tenure in Mystic Falls. We loved him in The Vampire Diaries’ earlier seasons as the human embodiment of all things emo (he literally dated a ghost!), and we… um… appreciated his unexpected evolution into a shirt-ripping, wood-chopping vampire hunter.

20. CAMILLE ‘CAMI’ O’CONNELL

The Clarice Starling to Klaus’ Hannibal Lecter, this brave bartender was able to tap into the show’s darkest, most complicated character’s psyche in ways that no one named Mikaelson (or even Forbes) ever could. She helped him conquer a number of his demons in the few short years they spent together on The Originals, and like most people who play a significant role in Klaus’ life, she suffered the consequences. (Side note: Are we the only ones who really dug Cami as a vampire? Justice for that short-lived story arc.)

19. SHERIFF ELIZABETH FORBES

Of The Vampire Diaries’ many maternal figures, none put us through the emotional ringer quite like Caroline’s mother. We weren’t her biggest fans in the show’s early seasons, given her penchant for hunting the undead (including her own daughter), but hey, what was this show if not an endless series of redemption arcs? Also, if you don’t get a little choked up when Caroline felt her mom’s presence in the series finale, you don’t have a soul.

18. FREYA MIKAELSON

The long-lost fifth Mikaelson sibling was a little rough around the edges when we first encountered her on The Originals, but the poor woman was in the midst of escaping a centuries-long imprisonment, so we cut her a little slack. And we’re glad we did, because Freya has since become one of the strongest, most inspiring and all-around likable characters in the Vampire Diaries canon. #FreelinForever

17. MARCEL GERARD

While it’s easy to get swept up in Marcel’s charm and swagger (we were robbed of a second karaoke number, by the way!), it’s important to remember just how far back his time with the Mikaelson family goes. When you consider that Klaus literally freed Marcel from slavery and raised him to lead New Orleans as his right-hand vampire, it adds a whole other layer of tension to their passionate power struggle on The Originals. Though he’s treated like an unofficial Mikaelson sibling, Marcel often feels like more of a Mikaelson than Kol — and definitely more than Finn.

16. REBEKAH MIKAELSON

Arguably the funniest (and most glamorous) member of the Mikaelson family, the woman Damon once referred to as “Barbie Klaus” never fai to tell it exactly like it was, beginning with her thoughts on then-lovebirds Stefan and Elena. (“Honestly, I don’t get you two as a couple.”) And Bex only became more complex as the years went on, from her desperate desire for humanity to her undeniable love for Marcel. Just don’t call her insane — she prefers “spontaneous.”

15. ALARIC SALTZMAN

In hindsight, Alaric’s journey from hot history teacher to hot headmaster of a supernatural school makes perfect sense. Still, it was impossible to predict back in The Vampire Diaries’ first season just how much of an impact the man formerly known as Warner Huntington III would have on this franchise. A drinking buddy to some, a father figure to others and a literal father to a lucky pair, Alaric has truly woven himself into the fabric of this universe like few others. (That said, we still wouldn’t recommend dating him if you value your life.)

14. SHERIFF MATT DONOVAN

Only one full-blooded human survived all eight seasons of The Vampire Diaries, and you’re looking at him. The pinnacle of mortal goodness, this blue-eyed patriot hasn’t always been on the same page as his vampire brethren, but that’s only because he didn’t want to see any more his friends and family get eaten. And we can sympathize with that!

12-13. LIZZIE AND JOSIE SALTZMAN

Asking us to choose between Jo (by way of Caroline) and Alaric’s daughters is an impossible task, which is ironic, considering the Gemini twins are literally destined for a fight to the death on their 22nd birthday. Besides, these sisters have always felt like a package deal, from the moment we witnessed their birth on The Vampire Diaries to the day we reunited with them as teenagers on Legacies. (They also popped up in The Originals’ penultimate episode, putting them in the prestigious category of characters who have appeared in all three series.) Despite their inherent connection, Lizzie and Josie really have grown into two very different people, a journey we hope will continue for years (and shows) to come.

11. MALACHAI ‘KAI’ PARKER

The fact that this remorseless, pork rind-loving psychopath ranks so high on our list speaks volumes about actor Chris Wood, who brought a refreshingly sassy vibe to The Vampire Diaries’ sixth season. The guy was so likable, fans were even ‘shipping him with Bonnie… as if that poor girl hadn’t been through enough already! You also have to give Kai points for longevity — even after his head got knocked off, he managed to make two encore appearances on TVD (Season 8) and Legacies (Season 2).

10. HOPE MIKAELSON

As we mentioned with Lizzie and Josie earlier, we feel like we’ve watched Hope grow up before our eyes… because we have. Given the epic circumstances surrounding her conception, birth and upbringing, an adult version of this character had a lot of hype to live up to, and Danielle Rose Russell has proven herself more than up to the challenge. Imbued with her parents’ best qualities, Hope’s power and passion make her both a formidable foe and an invaluable ally. Besides, Legacies showed us what the world would be like without Hope, and it was not a good place.

9. HAYLEY MARSHALL

We can’t even think about this fierce, fearless mama wolf without shedding a single tear. Hayley’s story was basically one long tragedy, from her complicated marriage with Jackson to her tumultuous relationship with Elijah. And then there was her untimely demise in The Originals’ final season, which… actually, let’s not talk about that. From the moment she gave birth, Hayley’s heart belonged to Hope, and it was in her most extreme maternal moments that Hayley’s true strength was on display. That’s how we’ll remember her.

8. ELIJAH MIKAELSON

Suits? Pressed. Hair? Immaculate. Vocabulary? Thicc. With his smooth moves and cunning intellect, Klaus’ extremely respectful brother could do it all — well, except keep the people he loved from meeting horrific ends. (Seriously, this guy’s track record for dead lovers is right up there with Alaric’s.)

7. BONNIE BENNETT

Simply put, this is the witch you want in your corner when things go south. Endlessly powerful and selfless to a fault, Kat Graham’s character spent eight agonizing seasons sacrificing herself — often literally, hence her multiple deaths — in order to keep her friends and family safe. No amount of bloody noses or dead boyfriends could stop this badass from crushing her enemies.

6. CAROLINE FORBES

Getting smothered to death was honestly the best thing that could have happened to Caroline, who evolved from a basic, boy-crazy cheerleader into a bad-ass vampire overnight. And that was just the first phase of her franchise-long evolution into the empowered, globe-trotting mother of two she is today. She’s also responsible for all of The Vampire Diaries’ memorable musical moments, from her sweet song for Matt to her devastating performance at Sheriff Forbes’ funeral. (Now if only she’d pay her old pals at Legacies a visit…)

5. ELENA SALVATORE

She may not have Katherine’s chaotic flare, but Elena deserves credit for carrying much of The Vampire Diaries’ dramatic and romantic weight for six years. And for that pink hair she experimented with in Season 4. On top of that, Elena also rolled with the punches better than almost anyone. (You’re vampires? I’m a doppelgänger? Now I’m a vampire? Now I’m human again? Now I’m in a coma? Sure, let’s do this.)

3-4. DAMON AND STEFAN SALVATORE

Two sides of the same brooding coin, these brothers were as proficient at breaking hearts as they were at breaking necks. And while their love triangle with Elena will remain the stuff of TV legend, their relationship as brothers was revealed to be the real heart of The Vampire Diaries in its final two seasons. Honestly, it’s too hard to choose between them, so we’re not going to.

2. KATHERINE PIERCE

Come on, when were you not excited to see this leather-clad lunatic on your screen? Deliciously twisted and infinitely more interesting than her human doppelgänger, Katherine was behind many of The Vampire Diaries’ most jaw-dropping twists, from her iconic encounter with John(’s bloody fingers) to her long-awaited return in the series finale. Honestly, putting Katherine on hell’s throne in Season 8 was merely a formality — she was always a queen.

1. KLAUS MIKAELSON

The man, the myth, the legend. To think that the monster who slaughtered poor, defenseless Aunt Jenna on The Vampire Diaries is the same person who gave it all up to save his daughter on The Originals… well, there isn’t a clap slow enough to commend that kind of growth. (Again, Joseph Morgan is very sorry about the whole Jenna thing!) By the time Klaus evaporated on the streets of New Orleans, it felt like we had explored every conceivable nook and cranny of his existence, from his traumatic childhood to his fatal romances — and we relished every second of it.

62 notes · View notes

spoonful-of-puns · 4 years ago

Text

I watched Barbie Princess Adventure yesterday and before I watched it I made sure I was going in as unbiased as possible. I tried to let it be its own movie, to not compare it to the other 3 switching lives type movies Barbie has come out with (Princess and the Pauper, Princess and the Popstar, and Rock'n Royals). I wanted to give it a fair chance as a standalone film unburdened by the rest of the franchise, and here's my thoughts after watching.

Target Audience

the main thing I learned from watching this movie is that this Barbie is not the same Barbie I knew while growing up. with the rise of social media, Mattel had to adapt, doing so through YouTube. Barbie is now a vlogger with a YouTube channel, and even does video collaborations with real people. Princess Adventure is the first Barbie movie in which vlog Barbie is the protagonist of the movie, which was a shock to me but I wasn't necessarily opposed. this is what made me realize that Barbie is still a kid-targeted character and now she's targeted to kids who are growing up with the internet, with tablets and phones. Mattel is adapting to keep up with the modern world, and that's okay. the movies don't have as much magic and fantasy as they used to with the introduction of technology, but that doesn't have to stop them from being good movies, especially for the technologically-geared kids watching.

Characters & Plot

Here's where I start to have an issue, and where I have to compare this movie to the other movies to get my point across. Something both Princess and the Pauper and Rock'n Royals succeeded at was having a plot that showed us why the protagonists switching lives was important, how it affected them and what they did with the information of the other person's life. Princess and the Popstar and Princess Adventure both have their own ways they fail to meet this goal. in Princess and the Popstar, the girls want to switch simply because they're bored with their lives. which in theory is fine but the way it's written makes it seem like they're justified in not handling their responsibilities- the Princess, simply to write a speech for an event, and the Popstar to write her own music. this is a stark contrast to PatP, where the girls are straining against sacrificing their personal wishes to fulfill their financial duties, and RnR, where the girls are trying to solve a feud between their two worlds. in Princess Adventure, the problem is not why they switch. in fact, their switch makes sense! Barbie needs to leave her comfort zone so she can expand her vlog material, and Princess Amelia feels burdened by the pressure to be perfect and wants to escape. the problem however, is that we get almost no screen time with them experiencing each other's lives. most of the plot is Barbie talking to her friends, and not much happens with her or Amelia, but by the end of the movie they're thanking each other for all they've learned. how did they learn anything? if they did it was entirely off screen which is my main issue. the characters supposedly grow, but we don't get to see it happen, so we're left (or, I am personally left) not caring much about the happy conclusion because it hardly feels earned.

I also have a problem with the rushed writing. aside from the fact that we don't get to see much of the switching lives part of the plot, the movie is a musical that spends time on songs that don't advance the plot, namely King of the Kingdom, which is a relatively minor character singing about ruling the kingdom. he has no real motivation to do so, and honestly if you removed him from the movie entirely pretty much nothing would change. (to be honest, none of the friend characters matter as individuals and I can't even remember their names, even though i just watched the movie.) this is quite frankly a waste of screentime, and the song is reprised later when the prince of the movie is revealed to be a twist villain. again, we don't get to see Amelia and Barbie's lives very much throughout the film, so to spend time on a twist villain is not only unnecessary for the plot, but it's also incredibly rushed, coming in at the end of the movie with absolutey no foreshadowing. some may argue that since its a kid's movie it doesn't need to have good writing but I disagree. kid's aren't dumb and unless Mattel is trying to move their target audience from 9-12 years old to 3-9 years old, they could stand to write stories that have better messaging and better writing overall. this is, after all, the same company that produced Princess Charm School, which tackles classism and economic inequality, with enough grace to make it understandable for children and still and enjoyable princess movie, and with a twist that's foreshadowed well.

Animation

I will admit that I don't hate the animation of this movie. in fact, I love it! I think Barbie looks so pretty here. it's not my favorite necessarily as I am still partial to the look of the early 2000s classics, but Princsss Adventure is definitely a step up from Puppy Chase for example, where the characters look like cheap plastic. my issue though is even though the character models look good, the outfits don't. costume design is as important as any other part of a movie, and plainly put, Princess Adventure very much fell victim to the cheap way Mattel now produces Barbie dolls. anyone who grew up watching the classics remembers the dolls made for Princess and the Pauper, for Diamond Castle, for Rapunzel, and many more. the dresses were beautifully detailed with multiple layers and multiple textures. small tulle and lace designs and tiny fabric flowers were common. today I own a hairdresser Barbie who has what's meant to be a shirt, skirt, and apron... but it's all just printed on a single straight dress, printed to look like different pieces. the dolls also no longer have joints, which- excuse my language- is a pain in the ass while trying to dress or pose them, and would certainly make them less fun to play with, for me at least. the quality of the dolls has gone so downhill over the last few years (I can't help but think it's cutting costs to balance out the cost of diversifying the body and hair types and skin tones). Mattel's primary goal these days is selling dolls, not making good movies, and this shows through unmistakably in Princess Adventure. even animated, the clothes look cheap. there's no detail in them, and most of the outfits are shirts with some sort of inspirational word slapped on it, and a glittery skirt. there's no variation is style from character to character. bringing up Princess Charm School again, there are 4 characters (Blaire, Isla, Hadley, and Delancey) who all have different variants of the same uniform, which have differences that show their personalities. there's no such differentiation in Princess Adventure. the clothes all look like slightly different versions of the same outfit, meant to be swappable between dolls instead of showing a character's personality.

In Conclusion

this was all very train of thought, written at once with no planning. I'm sure there's things I've missed but these are just my primary thoughts about the movie. I think this new age of Barbie where she's a vlogger has a lot of potential, especially because I've seen some of her YouTube videos and actually really like them and think they're a positive role model. this movie however, falls very short of the quality plot, writing, and character design that Barbie movies have had in the past.

#barbie #barbie movies #barbie princess adventure

10 notes · View notes

stina-is-a-punk-rocker · 4 years ago

Text

stephanie perkins: ‘anna and the french kiss’

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Then again, if you’ve read any YA book, ever, it’s fairly obvious what’s going to happen.

I was going to go easy on this book; I really was. It’s really unfair how media aimed at a female demographic is seen as frivolous and vapid, and more often than not bashed and bullied when it comes to reviews. “People actually enjoy this crap?” ask the powers that be. “It’s worthless! Pulp! Dreamy-eyed nonsense only complete nimrods could ever like!”

And I take offense to that. There’s nothing wrong with liking romance or happy endings or stories about cute European boys. I was ecstatic when I stumbled across Anna and the French Kiss upon a chance trip to the bookstore. The cover was… meh (Century Gothic? Really? There were no other fonts?). But I’d heard nothing but praise about the book, and I was prepared to stay up all night and into the wee hours of the morning to finish it.

Admittedly, I was far from impressed upon the first reading. The characters were unlikable, the plot would’ve worked better for less shitty characters, honestly fuck these characters am I supposed to like them, fuck Anna, fuck Étienne, fuck Bridgette, fuck Toph, fuck Dave and Meredith and Amanda and Seany and every other stupid character in this stupid book.

The second time around, I expected to not hate it as much as I did when I first read it. It’s happened- I hated Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda when I first read it, and when I read it again, all that red-hot anger simmered down into an overall dislike. I thought To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before was trash at first, and then I read it again, and it got promoted to recyclable waste matter.

I found Anna and the French Kiss horrendous the first time I read it, and then I read it again, and… yeah, it’s still pretty awful.

Le Sommaire:

Anna Oliphant is a seventeen-year-old wannabe film critic who is #NotLikeOtherGirls – so she’s exactly like every other female YA lead. To her credit, she never explicitly says she’s special… everyone around her does.

She has a pretty meh life in Atlanta, Georgia with her mum and little bruv Sean- and then her dad decides to ship her off to France for her final year of high school. I’m not judging Anna for bawling her eyes out on her first day; I’m a huge mummy’s girl myself and I’d probably (definitely) do the same.

Meredith is Anna’s next-door neighbor, who does that thing which only happens in YA where she’s like “Oh, newbie? Let’s be friends!” (Or maybe it does happen irl and I tend to make a bad first impression which is why no one has ever approached me.)

Meredith’s friends are: Rashmi and Josh (who are a couple), and Étienne St. Clair. Guess which one is the love interest.

Étienne is cultured in that white person way where he’s half American, one quarter French and one quarter British. A true international.

But- *gasp*- American-British-French boy has a girlfriend, Ellie.

Anna has an absolutely gorgeous punk rocker (yum) boy with sideburns (yikes) back home named Christopher. Also, Christopher’s nickname is ‘Toph’ instead of ‘Chris’ because he too is #NotLikeOtherGirls. Anna tells us that nothing will happen between her and Étienne.

Anna is wrong.

Meredith has a crush on Étienne. So does the Regina George of the school, Amanda.

Étienne and Anna have some moments ™.

♫ Everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but Anna ♫

I tear my hair out in frustration.

Several other white boys vie for Anna’s heart. Anna remains blissfully unaware (♫ that’s what makes you beautiful ♫). Étienne (who is still dating Ellie, mind you) is unreasonably agitated by this.

Étienne’s mum has cancer btw, which excuses all the shitty things he does, because he’s just a poor, misunderstood boy.

Ellie dresses up as a, quote unquote, ‘slutty nurse’ for Hallowe’en, though- so it’s perfectly okay to dislike her (even though, in the first interaction she had with Anna, where Ellie meets Anna and Étienne, after Étienne takes Anna to the movies, Ellie is perfectly sweet).

Anna, however, is NOT a slut. Amanda is, though. And Rashmi’s cold. And Meredith’s desperate. And Emily’s a slut, too. And her friend Bridgette from Atlanta is a traitor. Anna has an intense case of internalized misogyny.

Anna’s friend Bridgette from Atlanta is screwing Toph, and Anna throws a fit.

Étienne and Anna have some more moments ™.

A truly chaotic series of events befall Anna. She somehow winds up dating Dave (one from the harem of white boys who likes her) to spite Étienne, she gets into a fight with Amanda, more drama ensues, there’s a hint for a spinoff, Étienne and her kiss, Meredith sees and feels betrayed… several misunderstandings and more bullshit later, Étienne and Anna wind up together, because true love conquers all.

Mes Réflexions:

(If the French is off, blame Google Translate.)

Usually, it takes me half a page of my notebook to scribble down my thoughts about the book I’m reading. This motherfucker took me almost an entire page.

Granted, a solid 30% of those notes are me throwing insults at Étienne, but still. ‘STOP STOP STOP YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND YOU DICK’ counts, right?

(That was #17 in my notes, by the way.)

For the record, I like Stephanie Perkins’s writing. It’s not as over-the-top and unnecessarily introspective as Jenny Han’s in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and the interactions between Anna and her classmates were natural and not the “How do you do, fellow kids?” style of Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda. The pacing is decent- I didn’t feel like it was too rushed; not the insta-love trope most YA romances unfortunately fall prey to.

And yet. AND YET.

Anna: “What’s your problem?” Amanda: “You.”

Same, Amanda, same.

Anna Oliphant is one of my least favorite leads in a book, ever. Étienne’s even shittier. And it’s not like Nick or Amy Dunne from Gone Girl, or any of the main characters from The Secret History, where readers pretty much unanimously hate them. You’re meant to relate to Anna, you’re meant to find Étienne charming and dreamy. I literally had to put the book away and calm myself down several times- especially in the last quarter of the book.

One of my main gripes with Anna is how… dumb she is. I guess Anna’s “Oopsies, silly me, I don’t know French!” is meant to be relatable to the readers. And some parts (like her not knowing how to order food because she can’t speak French) are plausible, but- sis, you didn’t know how to spell oui? And my idea of a cinematic masterpiece is Kung-Fu Panda, but even a dumbass like me knows that France is the film appreciation capital of the world. And yet Anna, a self-professed film freak, doesn’t?

Of course, Anna’s gorgeous, but she has no clue, because of course she doesn’t- even though she has multiple guys falling head over heels for her.

I’m in a short skirt. It’s the first time I’ve worn one here, but my birthday seems like the appropriate occasion. “Woo, Anna!” Rashmi fake-adjusts her glasses. “Why do you hide those things?”

Étienne is staring at my legs. The scales covering them throb under his intense gaze, and the pincers sticking out of my thighs start clicking rapidly in arousal. My hooves shiver in ecstasy.

… sorry, that’s not funny.

Her friends think Anna’s weird for wanting to write film reviews (which is the most contrived thing I’ve ever heard) instead of being the next Margot Robbie or whatever, but of course Étienne doesn’t and he thinks it’s not weird and cool and that Anna is such a special snowflake.

(Man, I sound like Amanda.)

And then we have this spiel by Anna about how she got into film critiquing (?), because we the readers need to know how special and #NotLikeOtherGirls Anna is.

To this, I say, “Piss off, you pretentious fuck.”

Of course, Anna’s a virgin and she’s never gotten drunk before or worn short skirts- she’s not a slut, she shaves below the knees only.

And would YA really be YA without several hearty helpings of internalized misogyny?

First up, we have the bimbo; the Barbie doll archetype whose only goal in life is acquiring the main guy (who is quite obviously uninterested in her), and making life hell for our protagonist. Amanda Whatsername (is she ever given a surname?) has this coveted role in Anna and the French Kiss. She’s blond (because of course she is); the first time we meet her, she’s in a, quote unquote, ‘teeny tank top’, and she also ‘positions herself for maximum cleavage exposure’. She’s always flipping her hair, getting her grubby paws on Étienne, giving Anna the stink-eye, being homophobic and a grade-A bitch.

Meredith goes batshit when Anna and Étienne kiss, and is very pouty and unhappy during prior Anna x Shittiene moments. Honey… he’s just not that into you. Rashmi’s the Ice Queen reincarnate and halfway to bitchdom. Anna doesn’t go as hard on them as she does on literally every other female her age in the book, though.

Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend.

Anna, hate to break it to you, but not everyone’s a possessive fucking weirdo.

About Cherrie, her ex-boyfriend Matt’s new girlfriend:

And maybe Cherrie isn’t as bad as I remember. Except she is. She totally is. After only five minutes in her company, I cannot fathom how Bridge stands sitting with her at lunch every day.

Her lifeless laugh is one of her lesser attributes. What does Matt see in her?

Even Bridgette, Anna’s best friend from Atlanta, isn’t immune to Anna’s anti-female propaganda. She’s screwing the guy Anna used to like, and Anna, the hypocrite, throws a huge fit.

For context: Bridgette and Toph are in a band called the Penny Dreadfuls (why is it with YA books and horrible band names? ‘Emoji’ from Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda was bad enough), and Anna + Matt + Cherrie go to a bowling alley to see them perform. After the performance, Toph announces that he’s sleeping with Bridge, and Anna confronts Bridge… onstage.

“… You’re welcome to move in when I leave again, because that’s what you want, right? My life?”

She shakes with fury. “Go to hell.”

“Take my life. You can have it. Just watch out for the part where my BEST FRIEND SCREWS ME OVER!” I knock over a cymbal stand, and the brass hits the stage with an earsplitting crash that reverberates through the bowling alley. Matt calls my name. Has he been calling it this entire time? He grabs my arm and leads me around the electrical cords and plugs and onto the floor and away, away, away.

Everyone in the bowling alley is staring at me.

I duck my head so my hair covers my face. I’m crying. This would have never happened if I hadn’t given Toph her number. All of those late-night practices and… he said they’ve had sex! What if they’ve had it at my house? Does he come over when she’s watching Seany? Do they go in the bedroom?

I’m going to be sick.

Give me a goddamn break.

Anna, about Ellie:

To my amazement, Ellie breaks into an ear-to-ear smile. Oddly enough, it’s this moment I realize that despite her husky voice and Parisian attire, she’s sort of… plain. But friendly-looking.

That still doesn’t mean I like her.

“Anna! From Atlanta, right? Where’d you guys go?”

She knows who I am? St. Clair describes our evening while I contemplate this strange development. Did he tell her about me? Or was it Meredith? I hope it was him, but even if it was, it’s not like he said anything she found threatening. She doesn’t seem alarmed that I’ve spent the last three hours in the company of her very attractive boyfriend. Alone.

[about Ellie’s Hallowe’en costume] Slutty nurse. I don’t believe it. Tiny white button-up dress, red crosses across the nipples. Cleavage city.

If I didn’t like Ellie before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. It doesn’t matter that I can count how many times we’ve met on one hand.

I fantasize about their break-up. How he could hurt her, and she could hurt him, and all of the ways I could hurt her back. I want to grab her Parisian-styled hair and yank it so hard it rips from her skull. I want to sink my claws into her eyeballs and scrape.

It turns out I am not a nice person.

YOU DON’T FUCKING SAY.

Emily Middlestone bends over to pick up a dropped eraser, and Mike Reynard leers at her breasts. Gross. Too bad for him she’s interested in his best friend, Dave. The eraser drop was deliberate, but Dave is oblivious.

One of the juniors, a girl with dark hair and tight jeans, stretches in a move designed to show off her belly button ring to Paul/Pete. Oh, please.

And I’m meant to like this character? I’m supposed to root for her?

I’m not saying every girl in the book should be perfectly sweet and friendly- that’s just not realistic. But when Anna has something judgmental to say about every other young female character… maybe she’s the problem.

In fact, the only girl I recall getting a pass is Isla Whatsername. And why do you think?

Brilliant.

And now we have the amalgamation of almost every fanfic boyfriend trope from 2014, Étienne St. Clair. Brown-eyed Harry Styles. I can’t fucking wait.

Étienne could’ve discovered the cure for cancer, or abolished poverty, or volunteered at animal shelters in his spare time. He could’ve been the most virtuous guy around (fret not; he decidedly isn’t). And I still wouldn’t’ve thought of him as the man of my dreams because HE HAS A BLOODY GIRLFRIEND.

I mean, which girl doesn’t want her boyfriend to say:

“I cheated on her every day. In my mind, I thought of you in ways I shouldn’t have, again and again.”

Fuckin’ smooth, bro.

“No matter what a terrible boyfriend I was, I wouldn’t actually cheat on her. But I thought you’d know.”

Such a gentleman!

“So you can keep dating Ellie, but I can’t even talk to Dave?”

Étienne looks shamed. He stares at his boots. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t even know what to do with his apology.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. And this time, he’s looking at me. Begging me. “And I know it’s not fair to ask you, but I need more time. To sort things out.”

And this gem:

“If you liked me so much, why didn’t you break up with her?”

“I’ve been confused. I’ve been so stupid.”

*me, banging pots and pans together* F U C K Y O U

“Ellie’s not like you, Anna; she’s a slut and a whore even though I’m the one who’s been thinking about another girl inappropriately and I’m the one who gets my knickers in a twist when another man glances in your direction because my masculinity is extremely fragile and I’m a total hypocrite and a dickhead.”

I mean, he didn’t actually say that, but that’s the gist.

WHILE DATING ELLIE: he gets Anna a book of sexual love poems, he calls her attractive (“Any bloke with a working prick would be insane not to like you.”) multiple times, he gets jealous whenever another guy so much as breathes in Anna’s direction and constantly interrupts such interactions, he’s been ditching his friends for his girlfriend but suddenly decides he prefers a new girl over said girlfriend, he thinks bread pudding tastes good- in conclusion, he is a Massive Fucking Prick. Though in hindsight, him and Anna deserve each other. They’re awful.

I had loads more notes taken down (Anna using Dave; “The important thing is this: Dave is available. St. Clair is not.”); the implication that cheating is okay because Ellie is bad or whatever, even though the sudden change in her character seems contrived because she was perfectly okay with Étienne and Anna hanging out before; how my blood boils whenever I read an American book and American girls are like “oOoOh AcCenT!!!1!!1!!”; me reading “DAVE SAYS YER A SLUTBAG” in Hagrid’s voice; the sheer atrocity of the name ‘Étienne St. Clair’ (sounds like a caricature of a French person)… but this ‘review’ is already pushing 3k and I can’t be fucked to expand on any of those points.

Verdict (which is apparently the same in French):

Who needs Christopher when Étienne St. Clair is in the world?

Speak for yourself.

#books #book review #anna and the french kiss #Stephanie Perkins #french #france #parisian #paris #YA #young adult #romance #teen fiction #bad books

12 notes · View notes

writingsofmyimagination · 4 years ago

Text

Conjecture |13| The Final

Idol Reader Au, Enemies to Lovers AU

Summary: Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Links to other parts: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |11|12|

Last Chapter guys.... thank you for everyone that has liked and commented.... it means an awful lot. :)

Hope you guys have enjoyed the series.

Words:3304

Rating:18+

Warnings: SMUT!! (Slight exhibitionism maybe) Swearing. General sass.

Permanent Tags: @msunnsstuff @rosey-roseu @eyelessmin @backtonormalthings

Reblog, Like, Comment

The leather straps were cooling across your chest; just as the strap was tight across your hips. You struggled, the buckles keeping you firmly stuck to the table. The white lights quietly warming the rest of your bare exposed skin. Your obliques teasing their way to the surface as you wriggled against your restraints. Cut here scissor lines decorated across the most common places women dislike about themselves. Crescents at your side, inner thighs, cupping your breast. Two figures hovering over you, crazed hunger filled looks scanning your being.

Lee Jooheon was stood over you in pale blue scrubs beneath a pearly white lab coat littered with scruffy black writing. He was stood menacing in the wielding of a scalpel while conversing animatedly with the person next to him. Im Changkyun was dressed to the brim in a perfectly fitted black suit wielding a clipboard with a picture of a barbie on. IM was shoving his fingers to the picture and then to you. Jooheon nodding intently in agreeance, scalpel still active in the air.

“CUT!” The director called. A bell vibrating round the warehouse. Jooheon immediately tearing the Velcro under the fake buckles and rushing to reach under the table for the large white dressing gown placed discreetly under the table. The basic black lace lingerie set was the only thing covering you as you hauled yourself off the table before coating yourself in white fluff.

“You good?” Changkyun asked lightly supporting you to your feet.

“All good” you affirmed.

“That was great guys, a clear cut. Scene done in one. We’ll get the stage set up and do the combined verse and Y/N’s solo then we’ll call it a day” The director confirmed. All you heard was

Break time

The three of you b-lined straight for the snack table. The crew around you slowly setting down their equipment to follow suit. A mini swarm of black tee’d crew descended onto the set working quickly to dismantle the makeshift operating room and prepare the next set.

“Glad I can finally put some clothes on” selecting the bag of wotsits crinkling over your words.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that” Yoongi’s voice creeped in from behind. The other two chuckled into their mouthfuls of carbs. Without even eyeing him your trajectory already planned to slap his arm on your rotation round. The Acne studios hat comfy on his head, the blue grey hair pressed to his forehead. Long black sweater draped over loose wash out ripped jeans which were tucked into hi top vans.

There’s a comfy boyfriend right there

“Never thought I’d see you conscious before lunch on a day off” you quipped back.

“Alright… it’s too early for your sass” Yoongi said in defeat to your ear, his arms encasing the shield of fluff around you with the sweet extra of a kiss to the forehead. His camera gentle in sway to your hip, the leather strap resting on his shoulder.

“Loved the set though” he added

More like loved the fact I was strapped down

“I’m literally kidnapping this Dr’s coat” Jooheon flicked the collar up of the coat.

Dweeb

“It’s such a cool concept” Jooheon added

“More female artists need to be speaking out about the image pressures companies force” Changkyun piped up.

“It’s 2020 dude, guys can write about it too you know” you teased

“There’s ten times more pressure on you guys though”

He was right. Your concept was the bomb though. You and your image held hostage by the agency only for you to rebel against them all accompanied by some aggressive thought-provoking rap.

What more does a girl want?

“And we’re here doing this project with you so we technically are” Changkyun added.

Also true

“You also know I wouldn’t have you let say no” One of the runners dropped your outfit off to you. You both exchanged silent polite glances.

Mid conversation you held no reservations, untying your robe. It slid off your shoulders Yoongi saving it from the floor. You shrugged on the tight-fitting scrub top. The top conveniently had slits through the fabric. Making its function as a top dubious at best. The shorts were free from any intentional rips and were nice and basic. Yoongi’s eyes flitted briefly to the ground, gaze not sure where to settle. You were still getting used the fact he wasn’t as comfortable with your skin on show as you were. Multiple times you’d teased him at how awkward and polite he still was when you were actually his.

“Are you sure you just didn’t want an opportunity to tie your two favourite rappers to a chair? Beside me of course” Yoongi teased as your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, mouth agape hand delicate finishing a perfect cat flick on your eyeliner.

“Jealous?” You paused the application of your makeup while teasing, the flicks won’t be ruined for anybody. Eye contact cheekily held in place.

He leaned in just a tad, enough to make his words inaudible to the fanfare around.

“Babe, you know I wish it was me. Just at home, with less clothes. You in that set I love, ooo and the way you love to ride me like that…” You shoved him away.

“Alright alright enough, don’t tease. Go over there and behave” You indicated with your pinky finger behind the camera. Puckering your blood red lipstick equally, crew swift in moving out of your way as you stepped up onto the newly built mini stage.

A lonely microphone on the small rectangular stage was all to keep you company. The two boys looking calm, jovial in their conversation to each other as you adjusted the stand to your height. Yoongi trying to shield a half-cocked smile. You flipped him off. He always liked to tease your height.

He’s not even got much on me, cheeky shit

“Ready on set!” The director boomed. Crew obedient falling silently in a heartbeat.

“Action!”

The strongly worded verse and chorus were the first lyrics you’d scribbled down in some painful PR meeting. The topic of you and your body image and how they wanted to sell it was just slowly infuriating you. You were an Idol, rapper whatever people called you now. This shit comes with the territory but the way they guy was talking about you just ruffled about every damn feather in your being.

The bell rang again and the major scuffling on set commenced. You jumped off the stage and raced to Chloe who’d returned from taking Ted for a walk. Completely bypassing Yoongi, dropping to your knees and ruffling the ball of excited fluff.

“Hey boy” you cooed, scratching the belly after the desperate drop and roll he gave you.

“Dude he wanted to play with evvveerryyyone today”

“Well he was probably excited to hang out with auntie Chlo”

“You love him” you added

“I can’t even lie about that; can your assistant be on holiday more often?” His attention quickly became focused

“You would get me into soo much trouble if you were my assistant”

“But you’d have the best time” The pair of you laughed knowing she was absolutely right.

“I’ll catch you in a bit” Giving Ted once last squeeze before you went to makeup.

All paint removed; hair now styled to perfection. Makeup fairly natural and light, the artist dabbing a pad around your cheeks catching any moisture. Heavily ripped boyfriend jeans sat at your hips finishing just at the lower end of your calves. Pristine snug white trainers cushioned the weariness of your feet. You had to change your underwear to a white set as to not show through the thin white tie up crop top. You secured the tie at your chest, even Yoongi would have to work at undoing the knot.

“Ready?” the director popped his head round the door. You responded with a bright mumble as you were mid swig of your water bottle.

“Sweet, we rolling in three”

“Seriously, how did I land you?” Yoongi purred making his way into the office converted dressing room. The artist leaving the room promptly.

“Looks good right” You agreed, puckering your lips in the mirror.

“Mmmhhhmm” he growled low at your neck; hands secured round the front of your stomach. The warm body pressed up against you.

“I love when you dress more casual” His fingertips elegant in their tip toe over your curved behind, etching their impatient way to the tie in the centre of your chest.

“Oi! Keep your hands to yourself” A weak willed play fight broke out. Yoongi going straight for where you were ticklish; leaving you completely vulnerable to him manoeuvring you round to face him.

“Careful Min Yoongi, don’t be getting yourself worked up for something you can’t have”

“Can’t have?” If stroppy pouts could melt you, you’d be in a puddle right now.

“Last I remembered you invited the boys round to mine for a recording sesh” Your stroke on his chin phased his eyes to roll regrettably.

“Pretty sure you regret giving Hobi the key now ey?” you crept the words in his ear, pressing your hand to his crotch. His cheeks puffed up, sulking against your smirk poorly disguised through your mouthfuls of water leaving the pouty boy in the dressing room.

The pout was a constant tell as much as he tried to hide behind the lenses capturing the formidable stage unit the three of you formed. The multiple takes had a thin layer of perspiration gracing the foundation on your skin. The second the final bell rang through the metal interior the three of you took a breath, or several before you bowed to all the staff before embracing the two guys. The make-up artist rushed over to where you’d sat drooping your legs on the temporary stage, padding at your face. You shooed her off prematurely, not bothering with how wisps of hair were loosely stuck to your skin.

“That looks ace, thank you so much guys!” You exclaimed bright as possible. The three of you snug crowded round one of the main cameras

“It was a pleasure” Their eyes both drifted off to their manager who’d stepped in a bit closer

“Well that’s our cue to leave” Changkyun mumbled the drop in his face noticeable but not obvious.

“That’s fine, don’t get yourself into trouble”

“Give him ten minutes” Jooheon quipped.

You’d changed into a cool and floaty navy maxi dress. You’d fought and brushed as much product out of your hair as you could and shoved it in a loose pony. With only a few of the crew left on site, the wide-open space of the rooms seemed much larger, sound travelled heavier and echoed more. Yoongi was a picture holding your large D&G holdall glitzed with the gold emblem. He held the door for you leading into the drafty stairway. The grey concrete bleak, the bright blue railings guiding their way safely down. The walls were drab and plain.

You held out your hand, offering to relieve your boyfriend of the oversized bag from his slight frame. He began to oblige, eyes not wandering from his phone. His wrist caught in your hand yanking him into you and into the back of the wall. Did he resist? Absolutely not. Did he need any more guidance, most certainly not!

“Babe…”

“Mmm” humming in between your chest where his head and kisses were firmly being planted.

“Touch me already” your arms were loose as they draped over his shoulders.

“Seriously here?” It was more of a check than a complaint. Strong eyebrow raised.

Fucking yes

The hem of your dress slowly crept up your leg, crumpling up over his hand. His lips nearly caressing yours, the warmth of his breath rolling over your skin. The knowing smile escaped onto your features

“Fuck babe!”

“What?...mmm” your tone creeping higher feigning innocence. His fingers ghosting at the apex of your thighs. The bundle of nerves buzzing at the slight contact, he brushed his cheek to yours

“It’s too warm for underwear” you whined, still pleading innocence. Yoongi knew better, knew the lack of innocence you actually held.

“I’m calling bullshit” Your head gently rolled back into the wall.

“I’m reallllyy not complaining…” he added pushing a bit more of his weight into you, growling into your neck. Your grip tightening round his neck.

“Well let’s play a game of hurry the…mmm fuck up” you urged, teasing his fingers hard against you. The way his hips jutted feeling the rush of how much you wanted him. With the heat combusting through the heavy kisses, the air was thick and blissfully suffocating. Engulfed in heat he dragged your body round. It was your turn to be shoved hard against the cool concrete

“Careful…” you choked between laboured breathes.

“You’ll give yourself a problem we won’t have time to fix”

“My only problem is not hearing you moan my name” Aggressive hands crept back round the front hoisting your dress back up.

Metal clinked; voices echoed. Heartbeat petrified still in your chest.

Innocent coughs smuggling smiles, arms linked as the last of the camera crew polite in their bow as the gave passage to you.

“Thank you, you worked hard” you responded in kind as Yoongi let you take the lead single file past the biggest cock blockers of the year.

“UUUGGHH” you whined slamming your head back into the head rest as Yoongi parked the Land rover in your bay in the gated underground parking of your building.

“I’m soo sorry babe, you know I want to finish this track with Hobi and Joon…I promise I’ll make you…What are you doing?”

Knitted eyebrows with brown pools twinkling with rare mischief that only glistened with you. Like the first time he decided to be brave and go down on you in a dressing room. He’d missed you a hell of a lot, too much apparently for even unbothered Yoongi to take control.

You’d shuffled and maneuvered yourself to the back seat dropping to the chair with a success filled sigh.

“I don’t want to wait until later” A teasing lip bite was all he needed to be scrambling into the backseat to join you. The tinted windows offering you more privacy than what waited for you in the apartment.

“And what I want I get” Your legs were already snug on either side of his hips

“Don’t I know it” His hands already ruffling up your dress as your hands dived desperate to unhook his jean buttons.

You secured his hands round the back of the head rest

“Stay” you urged; hands remained obedient as yours went to elicit controlled groans from his throat as your hand wrapped around him. The need between your legs grew, your bites of his lower lip grew harder, hips rocking against a frustrating nothing. Your ponytail got pulled back sharply. Yoongi apparently had enough of you torturing yourself and him

“Turn around and let me feel you now”

“My hands not good enough for you anymore?”

“Not when I know your just desperate for my cock”

Fair point

Agreeing with complete compliance, invested in his way of thinking. You swept your hair to the front of your shoulder. Following a hard grunt, a deep wet kiss was pressed to shoulder blade you needed to take a beat adjusting to him.

“Mmpphh” you both grunted, head falling forward. Hand grappling behind looking to hook onto any part of him. Palm closing in on his thin waist. Circle movements heavy in your hip

“Better? Is that all my baby wanted hmm?”

“Mmmhmm…Just you” you choked as his hips jutted upwards.

“Yeah?” hair weaved in the long genius fingers tugged hard lips, soft teeth not so on your neck.

“Use me then”

Oh I’m going to

His hand not leaving your hair, hips refusing to offer you anything. The filth Yoongi whispered in controlled pants still offered the motivation for your movements. Every time Yoongi felt the tensing of your thighs or your moans reached a certain pitch too high he couldn’t help but buck up into you. The dusting of a chuckle would ease in through his grunts at your cries.

He wanted to tease. The grip in your hair, the honey on his smirk and the slight growl in the background of his words told you that. Min Yoongi was now unbothered about keeping his friends waiting.

Not today

“Min Yoongi if you don’t make me…mmm… cum in the next 10 minutes…fuuuck” His fingers now tight between your legs, each burst of movement causing you to clench round him with a desperate tension.

“Your body is telling me you need a lot less than ten princess. I certainly don’t”

“Prove it” you challenged. A Challenge you knew he’d destroy in minutes. The air seemed to dissipate from the car, the heat instead hovering round the two of you. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin. Legs beginning to store the tension building up like Jenga blocks in your muscles. Back arching into him forming the perfect crescent. Your moans escalating both in pitch and volume rattled through his brain, trickling in hot drips down his spine adding the pressure within him to breaking point. A breaking point which spilled over before he could gain any control. The hand secured round your pony tail released and dropped to your shoulders with his head following suit, a few heavy breaths later

“I’m sorry… baby, you just feel too good”

“Turn around again baby”

“Do I need to do some more training with you? Your stamina is …” you teased hasty in your shuffle round, hasty to not let your climax slip to nothing.

“Probably” he confessed

“Thought…Mmhmm”

“Just be quiet and let me make you cum”.

The tips of Yoongi’s hair were damp, you tried to ruffle it but the damp ends still reflected against the midday sun. Your selfie camera informed you that out of the two of you, you were the only one that didn’t look like they’d just fucked in a car. Unfortunately for Yoongi his face always flushes a cute tinted light red. He hated it. You thought it was hilarious.

“Will you please do a better job of not smirking, you know how observant Hobi is” Yoongi scolded, amusement drained from his face.

“Sorry…” you chuckled. You passed your hand over your face, smirk disappearing. Normal face trying to hold while your hand pressed down on the handle. You were met with silence for a few seconds before you had Ted bounding for you. Soon followed by Joon and Hobi who had been sat on their phones on the sofa. The TV was a silent black.

“I said you guys can treat this as your own space when you’re here, no need to sit in silence” You reminded half chuckling swiping Ted off his feet into your arms.

“I know, I know” Joon acknowledged.

“Sorry we were late, shoot ran over” Ted was put back to scrambling excitedly at your feet as you maneuvered your way to the fridge. Your eyes shot to Hobi, controlled by the unconscious notion if anyone was going to pick up on your white lie it would be him. His eyes were hovering on Yoongi for more than they should.

“It’s alright we get it” With Hobi’s smile being as sweet and as kind as it was. It was hard to decipher.

“You guys okay to chill for like five more minutes while I grab a quick shower” Yoongi checked.

“I’ll even but the TV on for you” he added. At this point you’d already disappeared and enjoying the hot water streaming across your skin.

“Sure, don’t let that run over too though” Hobi jested emphasising the ‘run’.

#smutcentralnet #ksmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #bts #mygsnet #yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts smut #BTS suga #conjecture

113 notes · View notes